The Real Lowdown
by FeistyFeist
Summary: Everyone has secrets. They just never knew one of their parents had something like this. Some shocking revelations threaten to unravel what's always been known as truth.
1. It's Raceday

It's Raceday

The first time I see the guy he's in the cemetery. In fact, he's in the exact same spot where I should be. Standing by the grave of my parents, holding a cowboy hat in his hands.

Curious, I slow my stride, squinting at the tall figure in the bright sunlight. Unsure of who he is, yet not wanting to interrupt, I pause near a large oak tree. I light a smoke and breathe deep. Setting my backpack near my feet, I wait, feeling like a shit that someone else is already here and I'm not.

In fact, I haven't been.

It's been a long time since I've been to see my parents. There's no excuse for it. Life gets in the way and it's easy to put it off. But the pain hasn't gotten any easier, if anything it's harder as I get older. Each year another reminder of how much time I've lost with them. Soda and Darry sneak off and go themselves but we hardly ever go together. Two years later and still, none of us want to show each other our grief.

I suck in a puff of smoke and remember my parents. My dad, strong and loyal; Darry the spitting image. My mom, while she was kind and loving, she was also mischievous and always laughing. Soda reminds me a lot of her.

Except the eyes. Those are mine.

The man sets the cowboy hat back on his head, his mouth moving but I can hear no words. I wonder who he is, neither of my mom or dad having any living family members. Us three – me, Soda and Darry – are all there are.

He's wiry and muscular, making me think he's a rancher or something when he turns back and catches my eye. He looks surprised. I raise a hand to show it's okay. He tips his hat and begins walking away, toward the gravel parking lot.

I throw my cigarette butt in the grass.

When I look back at this moment, I wish I never waved. I wish he never saw me.

OoO

"Darry?"

"Yeah?"

"You got class?"

"Yeah, I do. It's a Tuesday, Pone. You know that."

I lean in the doorway of Darry's bedroom, the odd man I saw earlier in the day still on my mind. I chalk him up to a random passerby showing respects but still…I'm interested. My brother opens a drawer, pulls out a textbook, slips his wallet in his back pocket. He evaluates the room, checking he's got everything.

"Darry?"

He blinks, surprised that I'm still lingering. "What is it, kiddo?"

I rub the back of my head. "Mom and dad…" Darry's face goes very emotionless. Very still. He sits on the edge of his bed, waiting, holding his breath. "…well, they didn't have any other family did they? Like no long lost cousins or…anything like that?"

"No," Darry begins, slowly. "They were only-children. Not a big family." He frowns. Checks his wristwatch. "What's this all about, Pony?"

"Nothing," I say. Shrug. "Just curious is all."

With a sigh Darry rubs his palms on the front of his jeans and stands, happy to be done with the conversation. Bypassing me he exits the room. "Finish your homework tonight, kiddo, and try to be in bed at a reasonable hour. Soda'll be late tonight and you got school tomorrow."

I give his retreating figure an eye-roll. Tomorrow's the first day of spring break. I cross my arms and slump against the doorframe, watching the screen door clatter as he leaves. Darry's getting as scatterbrained as I am.

OoO

"—pass it on…"

"What?"

A blonde girl hisses, "Take one and pass it on." She juts a stack of white papers and I get the message. I grab a study sheet and hand the pile to the next student. Stifling a yawn, I sink lower into the chair as the professor drones on about economics. I can't concentrate tonight.

In fact, ever since my youngest brother brought up my mom and dad I can't stop thinking about them. Can't stop thinking about his question. _He should know that_, I think, rubbing a temple. _So why's he asking?_

The professor tells us to open our textbooks to page 59 and read an excerpt. I flip to the page, reviewing case studies. Ten minutes later I catch the blonde staring at me.

She winks at me right before the professor calls my name and I forget what the hell I've just read.

OoO

"Ain't you gonna be tired tomorrow, kiddo? What're you doing up?"

From his spot on the floor, Pony leans forward and turns down the volume on the TV. It's nearing midnight. His mouth twists down. "Did you forget I'm on spring break too?"

I kick off my shoes, one flying across the room, the other off to the right somewhere no doubt just waiting for someone to trip over it. I shoot my brother a smile as I sink into the couch. "Who else forgot?"

"Darry."

"Darry?" I take my DX cap off and shake it, clearing dust and airing it out. "Shoot, he really must be working too hard."

"Oh yeah?" Pony asks, sitting up. He grins. "So what's your excuse?"

"Just naturally forgetful, I guess." I recline on the couch, resting the cap on top of my face. "Spring break, huh? They're still doing that?"

I hear the smile in Ponyboy's voice as he says, "Why? You jealous?"

"Maybe."

"Soda?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever wish you stayed in school?"

I stifle a yawn. "Ain't it a little late for this heavy of a conversation, kiddo?" It's not that I don't mind talking about the fact that I'm a dropout. I just remember Ponyboy's face when I told him I was leaving school and I ain't itching to have that conversation again. Reminds me how much the kid could shout.

He's quiet, so I answer his question. "I got all I need at the DX and at home. Spring break sounds mighty fine but it ain't for me." My voice sounds soft and muffled with the hat on top of my face.

"I know that, Sodapop."

Through the cover of my hat I see yellow as the glow of headlights fills the living room. There's the rumble of a truck in the driveway and then silence as the engine's cut. "Darry's home," Ponyboy announces.

OoO

Sometimes I didn't think I'd make it to 16 years-old. And today's no exception.

I raise an eyebrow at the bow and arrow Curly Shepard is brandishing right in front of my face. The arrow's tip mere inches from my eye. "Really?" I ask.

"Haven't you ever wanted to shoot one of these, Curtis?" He swings the arrow away from my face, raising it to the sky.

"Not really. Especially not one that's been lifted."

He gives me a look but doesn't say anything. We both know it's stolen. It's a nice set, not one that either of us could afford. Curly's no more of an idiot than he was five years ago, but I'm smart enough to know when he's cooking up some not-so-bright ideas.

I sit on the lawn chair in his backyard and watch him take aim at the wooden fence. I rub my temple, a token Darry move, and know I really need to find better things to do with my spring break.

OoO

"Incooooooooming!"

I slam the truck door shut with the heel of my boot, juggling groceries in both arms. "Don't you dare do it, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit hesitates, but he doesn't lower his arm, which holds a water balloon filled with red liquid. "It's an experiment," Two-Bit says. "Of epic proportions."

"Oh, he'll do it, Dar," a voice warns. I look over and Ponyboy's perched on the porch, book in hand, amused smile on his face.

"He better not," I growl. I eye my friend. "You hear me, Keith? I don't care what kind of experiment it is, I'll skin you."

"Just don't say the magic word," Ponyboy warns. "It's _WHAT_."

"Aw, c'mon, kid!" Two-Bit shouts. "I told you that in confidence."

"Hey, I have an idea," I tell Ponyboy as I walk up the steps, nudging his leg with my knee. "How about you help me out with these groceries?" He hops up. "I have more in the truck."

"Sure thing, Dar." He jogs down the steps and for a minute I marvel at how much easier it is. How much we've managed to work it out, even when I'm grasping at straws.

I disappear in the house and when I come back out, Sodapop and Steve are pulling into the driveway. Two-Bit nods at Ponyboy. I groan and step onto the porch wanting to avoid disaster in my front yard. "Two-Bit, Pony, don't—"

"Hey, Steve," Pony says as Steve's climbing out of the driver's side. Pony holds a bag of groceries at his side, his face twitching. "Guess what?"

"What?"

OoO

I stir the simmering pot of stew on the stove. I started it before the ambush on Steve and have now been relegated back to the kitchen by Darry. "It's just food coloring," I tell my brother who's inspecting the house for damage. "Two-Bit concocted those at his house. We're clear here." I give him a smile.

"I'm sure his mother is thrilled." Darry says dryly but I see him bite back a grin. He digs a spoon out, scoops up some stew and gives it a taste. "You know, Ponyboy, spring break doesn't give you free rein to cause trouble."

"Aw, hell," Sodapop drawls, entering the kitchen. "This kid? Cause trouble? Ain't never heard of it." He wraps an arm around my neck and pokes me in the ribs. Whispers in my ear, "Steve's gonna getcha back, so watch yourself."

Pulling away, Soda plops in a chair and removes his DX cap. The shower's running, Steve busy scrubbing off the red. "But it was a pretty good trick; I'll give you that, Ponyboy."

I shrug. "It wasn't my idea. Blame Two-Bit. Wherever he is." Two-Bit had made a break for it as soon as he had launched the balloon at Steve, leaving me to clean up his mess.

Darry rolls his eyes. "Don't encourage him," he says, leaving the kitchen.

"Gee, thanks, Dar…" I scowl at my retreating brother.

"You ain't that bad, Ponyboy," Sodapop reassuringly laughs, his teeth white and straight. His handsome face happy.

OoO

I've listened to Steve bitch for the last 20 minutes about how long it's taken for the red dye to wash out of his hair. "It's dark," I finally tell him, waving a windshield wiper under his nose. "No one can tell."

"_I_ can tell," he snaps. "That shit got on my truck too. A cop pulled me over the other day. Thought it was blood."

I stifle a laugh.

"Yeah, yuck it up." Steve glares and points at me. "No offense, man, but your brother is a menace."

"You're just mad he caught you off guard, Stevie. 'Sides, you wanna blame someone, you oughta be thinking of our side-burned friend out there."

"Oh, believe me, I am." Steve grabs a can of oil and walks over to a Dodge pick-up truck. "I sure as shit am."

I hold my hands up, picturing Darry's face. "Just not in the house, Steve. Whatever you do, not in our house."

"Roger that, Sodapop."

OoO

For March, it's already warm in Tulsa. I duck into a convenience store, pulling together enough change to buy a Pepsi and then continue my walk. Heading home from the track, I decide I'll stop by the library. Maybe even spice up the day with a movie. God, if Steve heard this he'd never let me live it down.

There's a few more days left in spring break and so far I've spent it at track practice or lounging around the house. I've seen more reruns of Bonanza than I can count.

I cross the street and that's when I notice the car idling on the curb next to the Woolworth's. It's a brown Chevy Impala, with a rusted passenger side door.

The guy from the cemetery, the guy in the cowboy hat, sits behind the wheel.

OoO

I watch as Ponyboy scrubs, rinses and then re-scrubs the exact same plate three times in a row. Soda gives me a look and at my silent nod of agreements, asks him, "You okay, kiddo? You're awful quiet tonight."

"Just…thinking," he says, going back to the dishes, his hands coated in soapy bubbles.

"You sure?" I ask, grabbing up my keys and my textbook.

"Sure, I'm sure." He gives me a crooked grin. "Ain't you gonna be late, Dar? You better go."

"I'm going, I'm going," I mutter, stifling a yawn. The night classes at the community college are what I've always wanted, and even still, attending at night is sometimes sheer hell after a long day at work. I tell my brothers goodbye and wince as Ponyboy continues to scrub the same plate.

"Remember, Dar," Soda hollers as I hustle out the front door, worry clouding my thoughts. "Work smart, not hard! At least that's what the ladies say!"

OoO

"I went and saw mom and dad last week."

Pony catches me off guard and I choke on a mouthful of toothpaste. Dipping, I spit the foam in the sink and rinse. I put my toothbrush away. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"Who says anything's bothering me?"

"Pone."

"What?"

"C'mon, kiddo, I know you. I know when you're worried."

He scowls. "I ain't worried."

"Okay then, upset."

He hesitates. "That—that ain't it…"

Deciding not to press it, I reach out and squeeze his arm. "Why didn't you tell us?"

He crosses his arms, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. His face clouds over. "I don't know. Feels like something we should keep to ourselves, I guess."

I think about this. "Darry and I probably don't do such a hot job talking about it do we?"

"It ain't your fault," Ponyboy whispers. "Just—everything…anything like that is hard." And I know he means Dally and Johnny too. But that's all he says. That's as close as we get.

OoO

"Oh, ho," Two-Bit exclaims as Steve approaches. "If you've come to exact your revenge, Steve, you're in the wrong place at the wrong time." Two-Bit waves a hand across the air, gesturing at the diner full of people. He points at a baby sucking her thumb in the corner of the room. "We have witnesses. They may not be able to talk yet, but they still see."

"Relax." Steve plops next to me in the booth. Reaches over and steals a fry. He points it at Two-Bit before popping it into his mouth. "I'll get you back, man. Not here, not now. But soon." He slugs my arm. "And you. You watch your ass too."

"You didn't somehow poison my drink, did you?" I ask, raising a trained brow. Steve barks out a laugh and makes himself comfortable.

I take a sip of my chocolate shake as the two of them began talking about their Saturday night plans at the drag races. Steve races every once in a while, borrowing cars from those DX customers who will lend them. Every once in a while he wins too. Even I'll admit it; Steve's a good driver.

A bell rings somewhere in the diner, alerting the staff to new customers. The sound of clomping boots echoes across the floor and someone passes by our booth. Someone in a cowboy hat. I can't see his face but the hat's the same. He sits at the diner and in an inaudible voice makes conversation with a waitress.

"Say, you want to go with us, Pony?" Two-Bit's asking and I look up from my stunned daze. His smile fades. "Pone? Yoo-hoo, earth to Ponyboy…"

My eyes narrow. I keep my voice low, slouching in the booth. "I've seen that guy before."

Two-Bit twists around in his seat. "Who?"

"The guy in the cowboy hat. I've seen him three times in the last week."

"What d'you mean?" Steve's watching me close.

"Nothing," I say, as the cowboy leaves a tip on the counter and exits the back door. I have the curious urge to run after him and ask him who the hell he is. "It's nothing." Pushing away from the table, I hand the rest of my shake over to Two-Bit who greedily slurps it down.

OoO

"Think maybe Steve'll shove me in front of a car tonight?"

"You never know, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says, kicking dust and rocks out of our way, as we head toward the long stretch of road used for the Tulsa drag races. "It does seem like the perfect set-up. In fact, he didn't put up a fight now that you're a tag-along."

I give him a shove, but smirk. "Shut up, man." Up ahead I see Sodapop lounging against the bumper of a Mustang, talking to some red headed girl.

As we approach the girl moves away, and Soda bounces towards us. "Red heads. Bad idea, Sodapop," Two-Bit says, shaking his head. "They may look like angels but they're hellions in the sack."

"Oh, Jesus, Two-Bit," Sodapop says. He glances my way and hooks an arm around my shoulder. "Don't listen to a word he says. Red heads ain't so bad."

OoO

Smoke and dust clouds the air in front of us. Coughing, I swipe a hand in front of my face, trying to clear away what I can. Off in the distance, I can make out Ponyboy puffing on a cigarette and talking to a kid I know from around town, Mark Jennings. I keep switching my attention from them to the race.

Two-Bit and I've squeezed our way up front, closest to the action. I can smell the diesel fumes and an odd electrical current in the air.

"So did your little brother tell you?"

"Tell me what?" I shout above the rev of the car engines.

"Judging by that," Two-Bit says, sounding worried, "he didn't tell you." He screeches as the cars speed off, Steve's borrowed Challenger leading the pack, followed by a Mustang. "You know…I really should lecture the kid on the fact that secrets don't make friends…"

Ever since the rumble, Two-Bit keeping a secret is like Darry controlling his temper. It sure as shit ain't gonna happen. I glance his way, feeling my jaw tighten. "Two-Bit…what are you talking ab—"

The explosion cuts off my question. Brilliance fills the air as the four speeding cars slam into one another, fireballs rising in the dark sky. Then there's more, somewhere to the left, somewhere close by and everything goes bright white and then black.

OoO

_So I had an idea and I wanted to write. It's a little different scenario so I hope you all like it._

_While I can't promise regular updates, I promise not to keep you waiting for weeks on end. Just an initial FYI._

_Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, please review!_

_XO,_  
><em>Feisty<em>


	2. Walk Away, Start Over Again

I move fast, on automatic pilot as I plow toward the strip of road that's spitting out black dust and fumes. I'm asking strangers for information, keeping my head level until I can make sense when suddenly Evie's there, loudly and steadily crying. Her blonde hair's platinum, her makeup dark. She grips my arm, nails pinching the skin. "Do you think he's okay, Darry? Do you think they're all okay? Oh my great Jesus Christ…" Her voice rises to a keen.

Gently, I untangle from her grip, her words causing my stomach to roll. "Listen, Evie, I'm sure Steve's fine, they're all fine, but I'm going to go look for them, okay? Stay here and I'll be back." Nearly running, I take off in the direction of the explosion.

Tim Shepard called me at home with the news and I barely beat the cops and ambulances up to the lookout point. Kids stand around, dazed expressions on their faces. Some are crying, some simply bewildered by what's happened.

I scan the crowd for my brothers and friends. The police have the area roped off and I watch, frustrated, at the lack of news. A charred Ford Mustang rests in the wreckage. I pace and right when I'm about to grab a cop and lay into him good, I see them.

Two of them.

Ignoring the shouts from the Police Officers I duck under the yellow tape and clear the gap between us fast. I grab Sodapop by the shirt sleeve, pulling him in. "You okay?" He nods, coughing harshly, chin drooping against his chest, face streaked with soot. "Two-Bit?" I ask the other boy. He nods too, sticking a finger in his ear and trying to shake something loose.

"Fuckin gas," Soda bitterly swears. "Goddamn fucking gas." He sounds like he's ready to cry. Then when I ask him where Ponyboy is, he bends at the waist, palms on his knees and takes heavy, gulping breaths.

OoO

Lighting a smoke right now isn't the smartest thing to do at the moment but it gives my shaky hands something to do. As I make my way through the panicked crowd of Socs and Greasers, I'm praying everyone's in one piece. I have no idea what happened, just that it was loud and bright.

A wide-eyed Mark Jennings gives me a nod as I pass him. I cough and whether it's from the dust in the air or the smoke from my cigarette I don't know. I take a right and find myself stuck in a mass of people. Not knowing which direction to go, I have stop once to catch my breath and then there's a hand on my elbow. "C'mere son, this way."

I glance up at the uniformed man, who has long sideburns and tan skin. I can't see much else because of the dark shadows and the familiar helmet on his head. He gives me a smile. "Volunteer firefighter," he explains, guiding me to the left.

"Do you know what happened?"

"Too much gas and fire."

"Likely story, right?" I try to laugh and end up in a cough. I grimace. The inside of my mouth feels like it's been barbequed on.

"Something like that." We make our way through, parting the crowd and then he lets go of my elbow. We're out of the vortex of smoke, the night air cool on my hot face. "There you are, Ponyboy."

"Thanks." The cigarette dangles from my lips. I scan the busy stretch of road for my brothers. I smile when I see them.

OoO

Ponyboy walks out of the woodwork right when I'm about to lose it.

I'm pacing the road, unable to turn my brain off. Unable to stop the _what-ifs_. _The what-if my best friend and my brother_—

I blow into my hands to warm them. They smell like gas. Two-Bit asks if I'm okay but I barely hear him.

In a daze, I watch Darry holler at one of the cops, asking where Ponyboy is, where our brother is, his face angrier than I've seen in a long time, when there's a familiar voice at my side. "What's Darry worked up about?"

There's a long moment before I realize who it is. I jump, letting out a little yelp and there's Ponyboy. His mouth quirks up in that crooked grin of his and he wiggles his eyebrows. "Hey there, Sodapop."

I exhale a breath I hadn't been aware I've been holding. Two-Bit whoops, causing Darry to stop mid-yell and look over. Instantly, his thick heavy footsteps make their way towards us.

"Oh thank god," I say, wrapping my arms around Pony. I give him a squeeze and breathe in. He pulls away. I peer closer. I don't let go of his arm. "You okay?"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" He's wide-eyed, his green eyes bright. "That was wild, Sodapop."

"Shoot, kid," Two-Bit whistles. "I'm not sure _wild's_ the right verb."

"Adjective."

"Same thing."

Exasperated, Pony shakes his head. "No. No, they're—"

"Can we _not_ do this now?" Darry's asking as he arrives, hovering tall over Ponyboy's shoulders. He shoots me a look of relief before putting a hand on Ponyboy's arm and making him turn around to face him. In quick Darry-style I see him size our brother up.

Darry gives Pony a quick pat on the side of his face, his hand resting on Pony's shoulder. "Where've you been, kiddo? We've been lookin for you."

Pony drags a hand across his face, smearing soot in every direction. "Well, I couldn't see a damned thing and this guy, he– Darry?"

Darry's eyes move to something over Pony's shoulder. Abruptly, Darry walks away. "He never listens to me," Pony says, frowning.

"It's Tim," Two-Bit says as Darry joins Tim Shepard about 20 feet away. They quietly talk, Darry nodding every now and then. A cigarette lights up Tim's face in the dark. They seem oblivious to the hordes of cops and firefighters. Beside me, Pony's ragged breathing is soft. My old can't-sit-still itch returns and I wish I had a deck of cards or something to keep my mind straight. Even Two-Bit's stony.

Then Darry's walking back. He's grinning. "They're taking Steve to Saint Mary's. He's got a broken arm, and according to Tim an even shittier attitude, but he's okay."

OoO

Word spreads around town like the fire at the drag race and when I go back to school on Monday, everyone wants to know the story. Mark Jennings recounts it in great and exhaustive detail, embellishing certain facts. I just listen and try to keep out of it, having had my time in the spotlight.

Steve and Two-Bit, having finally graduated, miss out on their chance to be famous around Will Rogers High.

OoO

"You're moving slow with that arm, Stevie," I goad, knowing I shouldn't. Steve's been in a pissy mood ever since he got sprung from the hospital a few days ago.

"Goddamn it," Steve swears, kicking a tire. "I can't do jack shit with this thing." He jerks spastically, his right arm bobbing like a broken wing, and flips an entire tray of auto parts on the ground with his left hand. Steve continues his fit by kicking nuts and bolts across the shop and swearing a blue streak.

"Steve…"

"Don't. Don't try to make it better. You ain't the one with the busted car and the busted arm. It's embarrassing is what it is, Sodapop. Not to mention the fact that Evie's hanging around me like I'm a fucking child."

I knew it. Steve's pride's bothering him more than the fact that he nearly got killed. "Would you have rather been splattered across the windshield?" At his silence, I hold up a hand. "Forget I asked." I check the oil on Mrs. Golding's old Caddy. Hold the dipstick out to Steve. "You're lucky, man."

"I can't even change a goddamn tire."

"Look, you shouldn't be working anyway." The phone starts ringing but I ignore it. "I can take your shifts, work some doubles and give you the cash."

Steve shakes his head. "I can't let you do that, Sodapop."

"Sure you can. You helped me out when the kid disappeared." Darry and I never would have made it if it weren't for Steve covering for me at work. He picked up my shifts and when I'd find money at the house the next day it was all because of Steve.

I walk across the shop to answer the phone. "I owe you one. We all do."

"Just don't tell the kid that," Steve says with a laugh.

OoO

I bristle as I hear the car trolling behind me. Sneaking a glance over my shoulder I see it's the dirty brown Impala. I pick up the pace, instinct kicking in. I've just finished track practice so outrunning the car should be a piece of cake. My hands tighten into fists as the car pulls alongside me.

It's the Cowboy.

I can only see him in profile, long sideburns and rusty brown hair underneath that hat.

"What do you want, man?" I ask, keeping space between myself and the car. "Why're you following me?"

"I'm not—" The Cowboy pulls over to the curb, idling. He sticks an arm out the window. "One minute, son. Please. I just want—"

Before he can get any further, I head down the sloped embankment and take a shortcut through the field that leads to back to my house.

OoO

The front door slams hard. A photo on the wall rattles. I set my coffee cup down. Shut my textbook. "Sodapop," I say, "how many time have I told you not to slam the d—"

Ponyboy appears in the kitchen. "Darry," he says, sounding mature and serious. His mouth opens. Closes.

"What is it?" I ask. I can see his mouth get tight, like he doesn't want to tell me or is rethinking whatever it is he had been on the verge of saying. "_Pony_. What's going on?"

"I have homework."

"_Okay_."

In one swift motion, Ponyboy disappears down the hall, leaving me to wonder what on earth he's gotten into now.

OoO

I had been close to telling Darry. So close. But then when I thought about it…what if I was wrong? What if it was nothing and mere coincidence? The Cowboy wanted directions is all. I'd get everyone worked up over nothing and glory knows that's the last thing they need.

I flop onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. But when I think about it, really think about it, I know deep in my gut that directions had nothing to do with it.

OoO

"There's another one out front for ya, Curtis," Lloyd says, coming in from outside. Door chimes jangle above. "Towed over from Main Street. Engine trouble. Guy'll be in to pay in a day or two so make it snappy. We're backed up in here."

"Yeah," I mutter, slipping some gloves on. "Don't I know it."

With Steve taking a few days off, my boss has been on my ass to pick up the slack. I've been at home, barely able to say hi to Darry or Pony before grabbing a shower and a good night's sleep.

"Oh, and Curtis," Lloyd shouts from his office, "I need you to take an hour and drive out to Smiths for spare parts. We're running low."

I grit my teeth and flap a hand, showing Lloyd I get it. "Asshole," I say when I'm outside the shop. I scour the yard, spotting the tow truck, a big brown Impala strapped to the back.

OoO

Ponyboy pops out of his room. "Anyone yet?"

"Not yet."

"Think they'll come?"

"I don't know, kiddo," I tell him, folding my paper up and sitting up in my recliner. About once every three months we get our usual visit from Social Services. We haven't heard from them in a while and what makes me nervous is if they've heard about Pony being at the drag races last weekend. Especially with what happened there.

Pony wrinkles his nose, smelling the Fantastik that's liberally coating every inch of the house. "I don't know why they come anymore." He smirks. "We've been practically incident free for the last two years."

Soda's laugh floats from the kitchen. "That's a good one, kiddo. We should get that engraved on our front door. Like a family crest or something."

Ponyboy snorts on a laugh. "I'm older now," he says, moving to the front door. He sticks a cigarette above his ear, grips the doorknob. "They don't have to worry about me." With that he goes outside to smoke.

_Not old enough_, I think, watching him through the window. Pony's pacing back and forth on the front porch. Sure he won't be coming back in anytime soon, I ask Sodapop, "How's Steve doing?"

"Pissed off," Soda says, coming out of the kitchen. He leans against the wall, his normally cheerful face solemn. He lowers his eyes. "But what can you expect from Steve? He's got a boatload of bills to pay that's for sure."

"Yeah, I heard that."

The dilemma Steve's in is not something I envy. It's a place I've been in before and a reality that still rears its ugly head more than I like. In addition to the hospital bills, Steve also has to fix the front and rear bumper from the crashed Challenger he was borrowing. It could be worse but it sure isn't good.

"I know you're helping him, Sodapop," I say. "I'll chip in as well. We'll make sure he gets through it."

Soda gives me a grateful smile. "We always do."

OoO

"Hey, Sodapop," I call out, shoving open the door of the DX. "I brought you some—Oh. Hey, Steve."

"What d'ya want, kid?"

I bite back a retort. Steve's doing his best to screw a hubcap onto a Jeep and failing miserably. A week later and he's back at work but not much happier about it. Two-Bit told me about his money trouble and I figure I could try to help out and pitch in too. Somehow.

"Where's Soda?" I ask.

"What do you think he's doing, Einstein? He's out back. Helping a customer."

Ignoring this, I sling the bag I'm carrying onto the hood of the Jeep. "I brought you guys dinner." Inside are some sub sandwiches I picked up at the nearest convenience store.

"Thanks," Steve grunts, picking up a wrench. "Lloyd's being a prick again."

"So I heard." My brother and Steve have overtime for the second time this week. The DX is busy but there're plenty of others he could get to work late. Sodapop swears he's just holding a grudge, but from what I'm not sure.

I watch Steve struggle with the nuts and bolts. The hubcap pops off and he drops the wrench. "Sonofabitch," he swears, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I got it," I say. I bend, retrieving the wrench. "You need some help?"

"Kid, just butt out," Steve snaps. He rips the wrench from my hand. "I don't need your help or anyone else's so just leave me the fuck alone."

"Okay," I say, not even bothering to fight with him. "Whatever you say, Steve." Turning, I begin walking through the garage to the back door. I hear Steve sigh; a loud, grudging exhale.

"Hey…Ponyboy…"

I ignore this too and keep moving. I pass a window, seeing Soda's profile. He's smiling, his mouth moving. He lifts a hand to wave. There's the rumble of an old engine and then a dark brown Impala peels out from the gravel driveway. The rusted passenger door mocks me as it drives away.

I freeze in my tracks. "That's the—" There's a hand on my shoulder and I jump. There's Steve, contrite and smug.

"Jesus, kid, wouldya wait up? Look, I shouldn't have—" He stares, brow creasing. "Pony?"

"That car," I say and point to the window. I feel jittery, like I've stumbled upon I shouldn't have. "That guy – that's the guy…the guy who—"

"_Kid_, the guy that's _what_?"

"The guy that's following me."

Steve frowns some more. "_C'mere_." Grabs my arm and hauls me outside.

OoO

"I can't believe you."

"I didn't want anyone to worry." Uncomfortable, Ponyboy crosses his arms and plops on a workbench.

"Little late for that now isn't it?" I shake my head, trying to clear it. "Ponyboy Michael, you're gonna be in deep shit with Darry, you know that right? Hell, you're in deep shit with me."

"I'm sorry," he says, looking frustrated. He shrugs. "It still could be nothing."

"Some stranger following you after class isn't nothing. Some stranger at mom and dad's grave isn't nothing." I wipe my hands off on my jeans. "You shoulda told me that first night you brought it up."

"But I didn't, okay?" Pony snaps. "It's not exactly anyone's favorite subject."

A reply dies on my lips. I'm realizing that while Darry and I may have done a good job dealing with my parents' death, we haven't done such a great job dealing with the aftermath. Their memories aren't exactly brought up on a daily basis.

"Look," Steve says, interrupting. "While this whole 20 questions game is pretty fun, we gotta get back to work, Sodapop."

"I should go anyway," Ponyboy mutters.

"Wait."

I don't want him walking home alone. I check the clock on the wall. We've got a long night ahead. I wish Steve or I could spare 20 minutes to drive Ponyboy home but neither of us can.

"Two-Bit?" Steve asks, catching my gaze.

I nod. "Yeah." Steve picks up the phone and dials.

OoO

"And you're sure you didn't recognize him from anywhere else?"

"Why? Would it have been okay to get in the car with him then?"

"Don't get smart," I snap. "You don't want to get on my bad side tonight, Ponyboy."

He shuts his mouth but I can practically hear his retort: _I'm already on your bad side_. I rub a thumb down the side of my jaw and evaluate my youngest brother. He's perched on the couch, arms crossed in the defensive position I've come to know so well. His long legs stick out, the tennis shoes grungy and worn. He looks like a younger version of Sodapop, minus the eyes and the rusty hair.

Two-Bit's out on the porch smoking. He's left the screen door open and I wave a hand in front of my face to clear the smoke wafting in. It's late but for me the night's just beginning.

An hour ago, I had arrived home from class to find Two-Bit sitting on the couch eating popcorn. "I'm babysitting your brother," he announced.

I slung my backpack down, eyeing Pony's closed bedroom door. "Why? Where is he?"

"In hiding. He's wanted for being a liar-liar-pants-on-fire." Two-Bit's face turned serious. "Plus, he needs a little supervision."

Now, having gotten the details about what's going on, I'm at a loss about what to do about it. Other than watch my brother like a hawk and knock some sense into him, is about the best I can hope for at the moment.

"No," Pony sighs. "I didn't recognize him. I just didn't think it was a big deal until today."

"It may not be," I grudgingly admit. "But I want you to keep an eye out. If you see that guy again I want you to beat it out of there. Or better yet, call the cops."

"Oh yeah, because _they're_ so helpful."

"He's got a point, Dar!" Two-Bit shouts from the porch.

I ignore Two-Bit. "I mean it, Ponyboy. Don't argue with me about this."

Ponyboy holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. Don't worry, Dar. It's probably nothing. But if it is, you forget one thing…"

"Oh, and what's that?"

He stands and shoots me a cocky grin. "I can run."

OoO

_Thank you for ALL the reviews and kind words. Truly appreciated. It is an honor sharing this with people who like to read so this just makes my day._

_More revealed next chapter, I promise I won't drag it out too long._

_Pardon typos. SE Hinton owns these bad boys._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	3. Give Me the Revelation

_This is the last chapter. Sorry all. I just can't stick with it. _

_Long chapter. Cursing. SE Hinton owns The Outsiders._

Give Me the Revelation

OoO

"Going for the Grizzly Adams look?" I ask Darry the next morning.

He chuckles and runs a hand over the thick stubble on his face. "It's easier. Cuts down on time." Standing at the counter, Darry pours a cup of coffee and chugs a gulp of the blackness. I make a face. How he drinks it straight I don't know.

I pull a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. "Managed to find this in the receipts. Lloyd keeps shitty records. Especially if they pay in cash."

"Thomas Mercer," Darry reads. "Oil change and engine check."

"I know. Shit ton of good that does us."

Darry eyes the bill again. "He look like the guy Pony described?"

"Straight down to the cowboy hat." Sensing Darry wants more I go on. "Maybe about 40ish or so. Nice guy, said he worked somewhere outside of Tulsa. Don't know where though." Darry takes another sip of coffee. I shrug, move around the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal. "Think it's just a coincidence?"

"It could be," Darry says. "But just in case it isn't…"

I grin. "Don't worry. Already on it."

His eyes move as Ponyboy enters the kitchen. "You're gonna be late, kiddo. Hurry up and I'll take you to school."

Ponyboy shoots me a _what-now?_ look and then laughs at our oldest brother. "Glory, Dar, ain't you got a razor?"

OoO

"Well, that was a dead end," Steve gripes. "Not to mention a waste of time."

I'll give Steve that. We've spent our day driving around town and checking out any _Thomas, Tom, or T., Mercer _in the phonebook. So far we've found a vet just back from Nam, a widow named Tammie and about four or five random guys, none of who match the man from the DX.

"We could go get a beer," Two-Bit suggests as the three of us climb into Steve's truck. "End this day properly."

"Might as well." Steve backs away from the curb, cranking the wheel with his good hand. He checks his blind spot and pulls out. "Though I don't know how it can get better, this goddamn day can fucking blow me."

I don't have to look at Two-Bit to know he's got the same dumbfounded expression on his face. Steve's foul mood has turned into something worse and even I don't know what to make of it.

"Say, Stevie…" Two-Bit says, treading cautiously. "When's the cast come off?"

"Four weeks," he grunts. "Biggest pain in my ass I've ever had." I brace myself against the dash as Steve takes a quick turn.

"Don't tell Ponyboy that, he'll get jealous," Two-Bit quips, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve barely cracks a laugh, whipping his truck onto the freeway. We barrel toward downtown Tulsa and one thing's for certain – Steve's made it his business to be mad at the world until whatever's he's pissed off about dies down.

OoO

Three days later and Mrs. Murphy is pressing a crisp dollar bill in my palm. "Thank you dear for taking care of my lawn. It was much appreciated."

"It was no problem, ma'am." I shrug under her inquisitive smile. "Just trying to make some extra money is all."

"Well, you come back same time in two weeks. The lawn will be waiting."

"I sure will. Thank you."

With that I head home, shouldering my backpack. I'll give the cash to Sodapop to give to Steve since he'd never accept it from me anyway. Although it would be fun to see the look fade on his smug face when I hand it over.

OoO

"How's a drink sound?" The blonde from my econ class dangles a pair of keys in front of my face as we cross the parking lot. She skips a little bit. "I'll drive. We can study for the midterm next week."

A beer sounds good right about now. There're so many things on my mind, my brain is on automatic pilot. I check my watch; Pony and Sodapop should both be at home. Pony doing his homework, Soda making dinner.

The blonde arches a brow. "Got a wife waiting on you?"

"Not exactly."

"I didn't think so." She flips her ponytail. "So come on. I promise I won't kidnap you. I'll bring you back in one piece."

It sounds like a deal to me so I agree. She introduces herself as Josie Lewis. We shake hands and as we head to a bar out on Route 5 in Josie's sporty coupe, I let myself feel my age for once.

And it feels pretty damn good.

OoO

"Pick up your feet next time, Curtis!" Jimmy Peretti shouts good-naturedly. "Can't have you letting the team down." He waves a goodbye as he rounds the corner, leaving me alone.

I finish stretching and wince at my sore calf muscle. I need to go home and ice it. Next week is our meet and I can't take the chance of an injury, especially if a scout is there. Shivering, I zip my jacket up and grab my bag. A cold front's blown into Tulsa, moving out the warmth that was apparently only temporary.

I'm crossing the track when I see the Impala.

It's been a week since I've last saw it and I've managed to put both the car and the Cowboy out of my mind. Until this afternoon. It's sitting in the staff parking lot, the lone car now that it's after-hours. A flare of annoyance goes through me and despite the warnings of my brothers, I start walking toward it. The driver's side door opens.

"What the hell do you want?" I shout.

The Cowboy exits the car. This time, I get a good look at him. He's tall and though thin, muscular and wiry. He's got on Wranglers and cowboy boots, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, which strikes me as oddly oxymoronic. John Wayne combined with James Dean.

"Listen, Ponyboy, I know I shouldn't—"

I freeze. I recognize the voice once I hear him say my name. The Cowboy's the volunteer firefighter too. The same one from the night at the drag races. I see his long, reddish sideburns, green eyes in a tan face

Suddenly, I'm not as sure as I was before. The wind blows a few errant leaves through the parking lot. "Why are you following me?" I ask.

He holds his hands up. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk to you and well…" He chuckles, his drawl thick. "Hell, I didn't know how to."

"The drag race—"

"Now that was a coincidence and a damn odd one at that." He takes off his hat, scratches the back of his head.

"How do you know my name?"

"Christ," the Cowboy swears. "I'm sorry, kid. I know what this looks like." He pats his back pocket. Pulls out a small square of what looks like white paper. "Here, maybe this will help." He stretches his hand out. "Go on. Take it."

Hesitantly, I reach out; readying myself to run should I need to. When I take the paper and flip it over, the air leaves my lungs. My voice cracks. "Where'd you get this?"

It's a photo of the Cowboy and my mom.

"Let me buy you dinner."

Unable to speak, I nod.

OoO

"My dad wants me out of the house, Evie's on my back to make something she calls a _commitment_, when fuck me, I thought we've been doing that all along, and Jason wants another $100 for his car. Life's shitting all over me lately." Steve points at me. "And I know. I sound like a sorry son-of-a-bitch, but hell, Sodapop, I just can't get right these days."

"I'm sorry, man." Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I give Steve a beer. Steve's finally unloading and buzzed while doing it. He plunks in Darry's recliner. Chugs the beer so fast I raise a brow. "How bad is it at home?"

"Don't, Sodapop."

"Steve, you oughta stay here." I flip the porch light on for Darry and Ponyboy. "At least until you get your fighting arm back." I grin and he laughs.

"Nah, I can't do that."

"C'mon. No one here cares. Darry's always got the door open." I cross the room to answer the phone. It's Ponyboy telling me he's going to have dinner with some guys from track practice. I tell him to have fun but I don't miss the catch in his voice.

When I hang up Steve's saying we need more beer.

OoO

The Cowboy, whose name I now know is Thomas Mercer, takes me to the same diner where I first saw him. Dottie D's. We sit in a back booth. He orders a burger and fries for himself, asks what I want. Orders for me when I don't answer.

I can't take my eyes off the photo. Every time I look at it, this kind of choking sensation threatens to overwhelm me. Something's wrong with it. What, I don't know.

My mom doesn't look young. In fact, she looks recognizable, telling me it's not a photo of her when she was a teenager. She and the Cowboy are leaning up against the Impala, his arm around her. She's laughing, but there's a slightly worried look to it. Her auburn hair is loose, her eyes mine. Her face a bit plumper than I remember.

I lick my dry lips. Try to find the obvious explanation. "So…you two used to date?"

The Cowboy shifts. I squirm under his intense gaze. "Something like that."

The waitress brings me a Coke. I try to calculate when my parents met. When she would have dated the Cowboy. All of a sudden the diner is extra bright. Extra loud. I squint at the photo. "Do you have any more of these?"

"A few."

"Does my mom?"

"I think Lara did, yes."

I tap the photo against the countertop not liking the sound of her name in his mouth. "When was this?"

The Cowboy sighs. "Ponyboy…"

A horrible thought begins to dawn. "When was it?" My hands start to shake and I release the photo. I hide them underneath the table. "_When_?"

"She's three months along in that photo," the Cowboy says, his voice nostalgic.

"Along?"

"Ponyboy," the Cowboy says, and his voice his pained. "She's pregnant. With you."

OoO

_Shock. This must be what shock is like. _

Steve's in Darry's recliner when I burst inside. My breath comes in heavy puffs, having run the five miles from the diner back to my house. I've left the Cowboy and the photo of my mother behind. I didn't stay to hear the rest. Truthfully, I'm afraid to hear anything more. I wouldn't –couldn't– believe it.

"Jesus Christ, were you born in a barn?" Steve's saying, his face a frown. A few beer bottles lay at his feet. "Shut the door, it's freezing."

"Where's Soda?"

"He ran to the—Kid?"

My stomach flips. "I'm gonna puke," I announce before barely making it to the bathroom.

OoO

When I crack the bedroom door I see a small blob in the middle of the bed, blankets piled high. I sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on the mass.

"Ponyboy?"

"I'm sick, Darry," comes the tiny, muffled voice.

"Here…" He lets me roll him over, his white face peering from the covers. I rest a hand on his forehead, checking. "You don't feel hot. Is it your stomach?"

The door cracks again, a sliver of light shining through. Soda has a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin. Behind him, Steve's pacing in the hallway.

"I don't know what it is. I—I just don't feel good," Ponyboy says. "I don't need a doctor or anything. I just want to sleep."

"Okay, kiddo. Okay."

OoO

"I already brewed a pot. Hope you like it strong."

"Strong's great," I tell Steve the next morning as he hands me a mug of coffee. He looks sheepish. He also looks hung over. "You got work today?"

Steve winces as I open the blinds. "Unfortunately. Listen, Darrel, if it ain't cool me being—"

"Steve, you're more than welcome here," I tell him. "As long as you need."

"Thanks," he mutters. He joins me at the table, rubs his eyes. "Ponyboy still sick?"

I nod. "Yeah. I called him out today."

Again, he looks embarrassed. "Sorry I wasn't much help last night. Once he ralphed all over the toilet I kind of…uh…well, shit." Steve takes a sip of coffee and clears his throat. "I just ain't Sodapop."

I have to laugh. "Don't feel bad. No one is."

OoO

I wait until everyone leaves for work. Then I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for nearly half an hour. There's a long crack down the center that branches like a tree when it reaches above my bedroom door.

_I'll look into it. Then I'll say something._ I repeat this like it's my mantra for the day.

My palms sweat beneath the blankets. A little voice inside urges _this is the kind of news that's life changing, Ponyboy_. _You just can't _un-know_ it._

_He can't be right. He just can't be. _Because if he is then I don't know anything – _anyone_ – at all.

OoO

The house is a wreck. So wrecked that in fact, for a moment, I think it's my fault. Two-Bit whistles. "Holy hell, what's going on in here?" I dump my stuff on the couch. Drawers are open, the coat closet a mess, picture frames turned over.

"Ponyboy?" I shout.

Two-Bit steps into the bedroom. He comes out shaking his head. A scratching comes from somewhere in the house. Listening fast I instantly know where he is.

"Downstairs," I tell Two-Bit.

In the basement we find Ponyboy surrounded by boxes. The tops have been ripped apart, contents spread everywhere. He's sitting in the middle of the mess, cheeks flushed. I sit on the bottom stair. "I thought you were sick."

"Not anymore."

"What're you doin', Pony?"

"Head start on spring cleaning?" Two-Bit says. "Or just felt like making a general mess of things?"

"Where're mom and dad's things?" he asks. "You know the boxes and stuff Darry packed up?"

I feel Two-Bit stiffen. He murmurs something soft and retreats upstairs. If I didn't know any better, Two-Bit takes the loss of our parents just as personally as we do. Ponyboy's eyes follow him up and then meet mine.

"Why? What do you want with those, kiddo?"

Pony leans back, propping himself up on his wrists. "I wanted to see some photos. I didn't know I needed permission."

"You know you don't," I carefully begin. Again, it's the same old thing with him; Ponyboy dodging the real issue. Confused, I stand. "You can see their stuff whenever you want. I think Darry just moved it up to the attic, is all."

He hangs his head. "Sorry, Sodapop. I was just worried when I couldn't find it. Thought maybe it had gotten thrown away by accident or something."

"We'd never do that." I take his hand and pull him up. "C'mon, let's go start dinner."

OoO

"No more studying?"

"No." I pull away from her grip. "No more studying." Jesus, I think, looking at her face. At the rate this is going, I'll be lucky to pass my midterm.

"You're no fun," she pouts. She reaches over to wipe lipstick from my mouth.

"Josie…" I finish my beer. "Look, if we keep meeting here we have _got_ to study."

The smile falls away from her face. "Okay. Fine." She whips her bag out and withdraws flashcards. She's all business and I know I've just lost. "We'll study then, smarty."

"Josie…"

"Nope. You want to study, now answer the question." Josie raises the card, reads it then smirks. "Okay, Darry Curtis…tell me…_Positive externalities exist when_…?"

I blank. While I'm no slouch in the studying department, I'm beginning to realize I may need some pointers from my little brother. Either that or I need to stay away from Josie.

"I don't suppose I can take a rain check on that question can I?" I look around for the waitress, ready to order another beer.

"Wrong answer," Josie says. She whips out another flashcard as I sink into the booth.

OoO

Brushing cobwebs from my face, I tiptoe across the squeaky floor.

I've never liked the attic. Two-Bit once told me it was haunted by a family of pirates and even though I was five at the time and didn't question the fact that pirates would be living in Tulsa, Oklahoma, sometimes I still think I believe it. The small room creaks in the hot summer and moans in the winter when the snow settles.

It's been two days since I've seen the Cowboy. Two days since I've been down in the basement and the ache won't stop. I have to know.

On my knees, I drag the large, familiar trunk from a back corner. It's been nestled below the small window looking over the front yard and between old blankets and a box labeled DARRY's BBALL CARDS. Sneezing, I wipe dust from the window, getting a clear view of our driveway. It's Saturday and Darry's out studying for his tests, Soda and Steve working.

I pop the latches on the trunk. Inside are all my mother's important possessions. I chase away a lump in my throat; saddened that her life has been relegated to this one small box. I gingerly start pulling out the items, carefully, hoping I'm not intruding.

She's kept every letter and drawing we've ever done for her. Her favorite Loretta Lynn and Roger Miller albums. I find a ticket to a concert from 1956. There's a pearl enameled lighter, which is news to me because I didn't know she smoked. There's some unfinished knitting. Darry and Soda's birth certificate.

Finally, I come to a shoebox. It's round and white, with lace trim. Opening it, hundreds of photos greet me. All black and white. All frayed edges. I set the lid aside.

Sifting through them I see scenes I never knew. Their life in fast motion. My mom and dad out fishing. Dad in uniform, Mom in her wedding dress throwing cake. Them at the beach. Dad with his football trophies. A newborn Darry in his christening gown. Darry holding Sodapop in the hospital. My mom trying to get a 10-year-old Two-Bit to smile for the camera. There's a photo of my mom, Lara, sitting on the front porch. She pregnant, Darry and Soda at her side. I squint; it must be me in there. Some of the final photos are of our last Christmas together. Darry got a football, Soda some car magazines and me a book; we're crowded around the tree, each holding up our presents.

And then the trail of photographs ends, like a person cut off midsentence.

I look through all of them and wonder why Darry never showed us. Because he had to have seen them when he packed everything up. Unless it hurt too much and he just boxed them up and put them away.

I spend an hour up there, drinking in all the details of the photos for the second time, realizing how much I never knew. It's both sad and humbling to see your parents as actual people; people with lives, not just parents.

Low, watery sunlight wafts through the window, signaling dusk approaching. My brothers should be on their way soon. Gently, I replace all the pictures. I'm breathing easier, relieved at what I've found; that there's nothing in there except us. Reaching over, I grab the lid of the hatbox, which seems extra thick. My fingers brush the soft velvet lining the inside and then they all come tumbling out.

OoO

_PSYCH! April Fool's. Sorry about that, I just had to do it. More to come._

_Please pardon typos._

_Ah, I think you see where this may be going. Stay tuned, folks._

_Thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing. You all rock. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	4. Does This Sound Okay?

_Long chapter._

_Cursing below._

_SE Hinton owns The Outsiders._

Does This Sound Okay?

OoO

They were hiding behind the lining.

Nearly 30 photos in all of Lara – my mom – and the Cowboy. Her on the back of a motorcycle. Lara and the Cowboy posing next to a _Tulsa Limits_ sign. One where she's smoking, the pearl-enameled lighter in her long fingers.

The photo that really gets me is one of her on some balcony that overlooks some rolling hills and fields. She's staring off into the distance, a glimmer of sunlight on her auburn hair, her hand up and out like she's trying to shield herself from the camera. But she's smiling. In all of them she's smiling.

There're more photos too. Worse than the others. My ears begin to ring. I feel the flush creeping from them down into my neck. _Oh god, this isn't real. None of it._

In these she's pregnant and she's with the Cowboy. Not my dad. He has a hand on her stomach. He's beaming. Then my birth certificate falls out from the hidden stash and the room swims.

OoO

The door slams hard. So hard that a photo falls from the wall, shattering. I groan, stretching my legs out on the couch. Steve rolls an eye my way. "What's his problem?" I hear the unsaid _now_.

I have to grin because inside my pocket is the crumpled dollar bill Ponyboy had given me earlier that morning for Steve. Not that that would stop my friend's smartass comments but if he knew what Pony was doing it would knock him off his high horse pretty damn quick.

Ever since we've been home Ponyboy's been worked up. Between him and Steve and sometimes Darry I'm beginning to think there's nowhere I can escape to for a minute of peace and quiet.

"We should turn this," I tell Steve as the _Newlywed Game_ comes on.

"We should," he agrees. Yet neither of us makes a move.

Five minutes later, there're raised voices on the porch. Darry's yelling. "Oh boy," I mutter to the ceiling, readying myself for interference. But then Darry's entering, no Ponyboy in sight.

"Jesus," Darry says. His face is red as he pulls his jacket off. "What's his problem?"

"You see?" Steve says, giving me a look. He eyes Darry too. "Got some lipstick on your collar there, Dar."

"I'm gonna raise your rent, Steve," Darry snaps, the tips of his ears turning red. He pounds across the floor, slamming the bathroom door shut. The shower begins running.

OoO

I took them from the attic and buried them. The photos are underneath my mattress, burning a hole in it.

I can't think about anything else. It's been three days and I'm walking around like I did after Johnny and Dallas died. I forget shoes. I forget to eat. I frown when Two-Bit cracks a joke. I just don't know what to say or do. Especially with my brothers.

_It's not true. It can't be. It absolutely cannot be._

When I rehash it I begin to feel better. The Cowboy's never actually said _it_. Maybe it's all in my warped mind. Maybe he meant to say that he loved my mother when she was pregnant with me, maybe she – and god this thought hurts – really did cheat on my father, maybe that's all it is. Just photos and a Cowboy.

There's a knock on my bedroom door and I jump as Darry's voice booms, "Pone, let's go. C'mon."

I grab my track shoes, swallow the lump in my throat.

OoO

Ponyboy unbuckles. "Can you come to the meet?" he asks, green eyes wide.

_Shit_.

His face falls. "You forgot." The statement's flat, slapping me in the face. I don't get what's going on with him the last few days. Clingy and absentminded, he's getting harder and harder to talk to, which I'll admit is getting harder for me to find the time with work and school and him being at practice. I don't like the excuse and it pisses me off I even have to make one.

"Pony, I didn't forget," I gently tell him, which is part-lie. I did forget. Only I really can't go. "I have a midterm tonight. I can't get out of that."

"Sure," he says. "I know."

"Soda'll be there. He'll bring you home."

Dipping, he grabs his duffel bag containing his track gear. His long hair falls in his face and he brushes it away. He punches the passenger door open. "Good luck, Darry." Pony trudges across the parking lot to the entrance of Will Rogers. I watch his figure get smaller and smaller until finally he disappears inside.

OoO

Steve fingers the wad of cash I hand him, Pony's dollar tucked in there somewhere. "Sodapop…" He knows it's more than my own paycheck.

"Just take it and shut up," I say.

Reluctantly he pockets it and then grins. "Yeah, well, I'll make it up to you tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"Poker game at Pinkie's."

Slowly, I tug my gloves off, setting them on the hood of a dismembered car. It's so torn apart I don't even know the model anymore. "Not that place, Stevie." Not only is Pinkie's place in a bad part of town – down by the railroad tracks and old junkyard – but the people who play are all cheats and liars.

Not that Steve and I _aren't_ cheats and liars; we just have fun while the other ones want your money or your blood. Or both.

"One night, Soda," Steve says. "I'll win us some cold hard cash."

I raise an eyebrow, try not to laugh. "Can you play with one hand?" Steve flips me the bird, our decision made.

OoO

_Run. Run. Run. _

Squatting, fingertips brushing red earth, I ready myself for the signal to GO. I glance into the stands. They're full; parents and students and teachers all cheering us on. Somewhere Soda is there, along with Two-Bit and Steve.

_Run. Run. Run. _

The heart in my chest pumps a frantic beat. I'm ready to launch myself forward, to work off the extra adrenaline that's been sticking with me these last few days.

The shot's loud and I bolt.

OoO

The hits keep on coming; not only do I not win the meet but no one shows either. I wait until the stands clear and all I'm left with are a few janitors sweeping up. Everyone else is milling around the front of the school.

"Bullshit," I mutter, trekking across the track to the parking lot. Running's the one thing I do well and now I've gone and loused that up too.

When I reach the gravel lot my eyes widen. "Oh no," I say. "Not you."

The Cowboy's sitting on the hood of his Impala, parked between a Bronco and a motorcycle. There's a Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand. "Some good runnin' you got there."

I keep walking. "Don't. Do not talk to me." A few teammates turn and wave, giving me smiles of condolence.

"Pony, wait…" The Impala creaks as Cowboy slides off it. He moves into place alongside me, matching my stride easily. "Do you want a lift?"

"No!" I shout. Parents turn to stare. The Cowboy stops in place. "No," I repeat a bit quieter, backing away. "I don't want anything from you."

OoO

"How was it, Dar?" Soda asks. He comes inside and shuts the door. Soda blows into his hands, warming them. He takes his coat off, hooking it over the arm of the couch. They both look guilty.

"Could've been worse," I say. "Don't think I'll ever take another econ class again, though."

"Econ?" Soda frowns. "I was talkin' about the meet. Didn't you—" His eyes widen. "Oh. _OH_."

I run a hand down my jaw. "Soda…you didn't go?"

"I thought _you_ were going. Steve and I got caught up…we couldn't get away…" Steve avoids my eyes and I wonder what they've been up to tonight. "Shit," Soda swears. "_Shit_."

"Great. I promised him one of us would be there and we both didn't show." I grab up my jacket and keys. The meet ended hours ago and Pony's not back yet. "I thought he was out with you and—"

"Two-Bit!" Soda yelps as our friend crashes through the front door. "Tell me you've—"

"Been faithful?" Two-Bit finishes. He clasps a hand to his heart. "Why yes, Sodapop. Only for you. But don't tell Kathy that or she'll have my ass in a sling. Not to mention—"

"Two, Bit, have you seen Ponyboy?" I ask, wanting to get to the point. "He had a meet tonight and we missed it."

If Two-Bit's surprised he doesn't show it. Instead, he shakes his head, the smile slipping from his face. "Aw, Darry, man, I couldn't make it either. Had to pick my ma up from her job now that we're down to one car."

"Damn it." Normally missing a meet wouldn't be something that Ponyboy would care about. But we both promised him we'd go and between that and forgetting about spring break, it's easy to see how he'd take that to heart.

"He's okay, Dar," Soda says, "Probably just out blowing off steam."

Out of habit, I check my watch, noting the time.

OoO

I squeeze my eyes shut. See colors. See the photos. Feel the pressure. Darry's and Soda's absence from my track meet. Everything bottled up explodes in one single burst and suddenly I'm yelling at the Cowboy in the middle of my school parking lot.

"Why are you here? Why are you doing this now? Why now?"

"Kid, believe me, I didn't mean to. And believe me it's an even longer story that I hope to tell you about someday soon…but right now…." Cowboy's face is pained. He doesn't look embarrassed or hurt, just concerned.

"I promised your mama I'd never say anything but then I saw you at the cemetery and Jesus…you looked so much like her. Like m—"

"Stop!" I shout, cutting off any more information before I can process it. "I don't believe you. Any of it."

"And that's okay, Ponyboy. I ain't here to change your mind. I just thought you should know."

I press my fingertips against my eyelids, seeing spots, warring between my need to know and the need to deny. Suddenly, I'm angry. Angrier than I've been in a long time. Light flashes behind my eyes and I open them.

"Then say it."

"What?"

"I want. To hear. You say it."

The Cowboy toes his boots in the rocky gravel, looks me in square the eyes and says, "Ponyboy, you're my son." He doesn't blink.

My heart jumps into my throat and then drops into my toes like one of those rides at the fair. And before I can tell him to take it back I turn on my heel and keep walking. My eyes begin to blur. I will myself not to bawl in front of twenty of my teammates.

He calls out, "Ponyboy…I'm sorry…"

I stop at the curb just as he reaches me. Mrs. Miller turns the corner, whooshing by us and waving. "You're lying." My voice shakes.

"I'm sorry, son, I didn't want to do this here—"

"Don't call me that!" I pull away as Cowboy takes a step toward me. "Don't touch me."

"Ponyboy let me take you home. You're upset."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

I turn; stumble off the curb and into the road. Cowboy grabs my elbow to steady me. "Easy," he says. He tries to pull me up onto the curb but I jerk away. The force of the push/pull causes me to trip off the curb again.

The car that slams into me is barely going 20 mph. The driver screeches in surprise as I hit the hood and roll up onto the windshield. Glass shatters and then like a rollercoaster I'm rolling right back down again. I hit the cement with a thud.

I moan, imagining for one brief moment that I'm splattered across the front of my school for everyone to see.

"Holy shit, Curtis!" comes the shout from the offending car. Jimmy Peretti has his head out the car window. His mom is trying to unbuckle her seatbelt and climb out.

Getting my bearings, I sit up fast, my shoulder giving a throb.

"Good god, you took that like a champ," The Cowboy's saying, voice tinged with panic but calm nonetheless. He reaches down and pulls me up with a strong callused hand. "You okay, son? You need a hospital or—"

"I don't need your help," I say, limping away from him. "Damn it, just leave me alone."

OoO

Darry watches Steve and I smoke out back. The stars are bright, the night air crisp. Inside a door slams and Darry sighs.

"That's Ponyboy." I ash my cigarette. "No one can slam a door like my kid brother." Steve snorts but says nothing.

Darry's frowning. "Yeah, well, he's doing it too much lately and I want it to stop. Besides, I don't remember us being that bad."

"Compared to Pony I'm a saint," I brag, semi-joking. In all honesty, my little brother just gets caught more than I ever did. I'd give him some tips but then again I don't want Darry to kick my ass for encouraging it. Two-Bit's bad enough.

"Bullshit," Steve says. "You're a sinner in saint's clothing if I ever saw one."

Darry rolls his eyes. "I better go talk to him." His knees pop as he stands.

"Good idea, Dar. I'll let you have the first crack."

"Gee, thanks a lot."

OoO

"Pony, c'mere I want to talk to you."

"I have to change," he snaps. Instead of stopping in the kitchen to see me he goes straight to his room.

When I find him, he's standing near his nightstand, tugging off his track shoes. "Look," I say. "I know we missed the meet and I'm sorry about that but that's no excuse for not calling and staying out past—"

That's when I notice his face. It's scuffed on the right side and dirty. He's also leaning funny, like he's holding himself up at an odd angle. I flip on the bedroom light. Something shimmers in his hair. It looks like glass.

"Pony?"

He hangs his head. "I ran into a car."

Inwardly, I count to five. Then— "Parked or moving?"

"Moving. Nothing's broken," he quickly adds. "I'm okay."

I sigh. "You're going to make me go gray, you know that right?"

He winches and stripping off his shirt changes into a clean t-shirt. I get a good enough look to see that at least on the surface he looks okay. He faces me. "I need to talk to you, Darry."

"Wait," I say. "Come on out to the kitchen where the light is better. I want to check—"

"No," he says. "You don't understand. I _really_ need to talk to you."

"No buts. Let me look at you. Then we'll talk."

OoO

I wait for my brother in the kitchen. A few minutes go by and impatient I call out, "Pony, bring the first -aid kit while you're at it."

He limps out, carrying a stack of papers in his arms instead of what I've asked him to get. It's a relief to see the scrapes aren't bad and except for his limp, he seems fine. "Sit down, kiddo." When he remains standing, I say, "Ponyboy, for god's sake, sit down and let me look at you."

He dumps the pile of white onto the kitchen table. "Here," he says. He doesn't sit down.

Without meaning to I snap, "What the hell is this?" annoyed that he's not listening to me. He doesn't answer and it's then I see the white papers are actually photographs. I give him a look, absentmindedly picking up a stack. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Ponyboy…" I trail off, the face in the photos familiar. It's my mom. I flip through a few more, seeing her with a strange man. I blink.

"Where'd you get these?"

"I found 'em in mom's things."

I squint at the photos, perplexed, not sure what I'm seeing. That's when I glance at my brother, the next question on my lips when I see that Ponyboy looks ready to cry. Pale, he's got both hands on the table, bracing himself up. I push back from the table.

"Kiddo, what's wrong?" Right now I've got deal with my little brother before I can deal with these photos.

He shifts his weight, standing straighter. "Darry…did you know? Just tell me…Did you know about these?"

"Know about what, Pone?" He's talking strange, has me searching my mind for what he could be talking about. His words carry an edge, a fine line he's walking alone. "The photos? I've never seen them before in my life." I pick up another stack.

"Look at them." He speaks carefully. Pained.

"Pony, I don't see what you're—" The words die on my lips when I get to the next photo. "Jesus. Who is this?" All of a sudden I'm having trouble focusing. "Pony!" I shout when he doesn't answer. I flip the photo his way. My mom is pregnant and with a man who is clearly not my father.

I take a breath, trying to keep it together. "Do you know who this is, kiddo?"

"Thomas Mercer."

"The guy who's been following you?" I frown, recognizing the name from the DX receipt. Something I don't want to get tries to turn on in my brain. "Why do you have these…?"

When he says it I'm not prepared. I had expected to discuss the meet tonight, to talk about my shitty memory but not this. It's like a shotgun blast to the face. "That guy says I'm his son." Pony whimpers. "He says I'm not dad's."

"What?" Darry hisses in a low and dangerous voice. "_What the hell is this_?"

Stepping up to the table, Ponyboy throws a photo at me like he's a dealer in Vegas. It hits my arm, bouncing to the ground. "You tell me, Darry! Because I don't know what the hell to think anymore." He's crying now, hobbling around the kitchen like he's an old man.

OoO

I don't know what the hell Steve and I've just walked into but it doesn't look like anything good. Pony's got his arms crossed, defensive, sagging back against one of the walls. It's clear he's been crying. Darry's so green he looks sick to his stomach.

"What's going on? Darry?" I ask when there's no response.

Steve shifts as Ponyboy and Darry stare at each other. "Uh, I'm gonna take a walk," he says, clasping a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He squeezes. "See you later, man."

"Pony?" I ask again when Steve's gone. "What's wrong?"

"Ask him," Pony says. "He knows."

I turn to my other brother, wishing they'd cut the shit and get to whatever's going on. "Look, man, would someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Then in a voice so monotone, so deadened, Darry begins to speak. He gives me the gist and with every word I feel as if I'm getting socked in the stomach. I sink into the nearest chair and stare at the photos.

"Bullshit," I say when Darry's done.

Darry shakes his head. "I know, Sodapop. I told him—"

Pony whispers, "Look at the photos. _Just look at them_." He's shaking. I don't know what to say.

We stay like that in the kitchen until Darry blurts, "Go to bed, Ponyboy," and Pony goes.

I run both hands through my hair. Cover my face. "Jesus fucking Christ, are you kidding me?"

OoO

_Happy Easter! Eat many peeps._

_Please read and review. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	5. Oklahoma ShakeUp

_Cursing below. SE Hinton owns._

Oklahoma Shake-Up

OoO

The next morning Darry finds me on the porch. He's already dressed, watch on his wrist. Though his haggard face tells me he didn't sleep at all last night. He hasn't shaved either.

I've got a cigarette stuck above my ear and one lit and in my mouth; my hands hold the photo of my mom and the Cowboy. Last night had been rough. I had stayed up listening to Darry and Soda, their hushed words in the kitchen, until I had finally fallen asleep. I don't even remember Sodapop coming to bed so it must've been late, past midnight.

Darry sits next to me on the stoop and fixes me with an anxious look. "Pony…give me that." I hand over the photo. He cups it, holding it away from my view. "I don't want you lookin at this or workin yourself up." Darry speaks carefully. "I know you're upset and I know it's confusing….But I don't think we oughta be jumping to any conclusions. I mean, this could be a long time ago. Kiddo, it might not even be mom."

Despite his sure tone, something in Darry's face tells me he knows for a fact that it's our mother. He recognizes something; a harried kind of desperation clouding him.

"It's her," I say, snuffing out my smoke and going for the other one. "Just look at it." The screen door creaks, Soda exiting the house. He leans on the railing of the deck, gives me a weak smile.

"This is all gonna work out," Darry says, his eyes flickering to Soda for a brief moment. "I'll fix it, don't worry."

"But what if you can't?"

"I will."

Darry sounds so sure that I believe him. He's my oldest brother. He's Superman; he can do anything.

"Goooooooooooood morning, Curtis's," Two-Bit drawls, bounding out of his car. "Fine day to you and what is this good, sir?" He snatches the photo from Darry.

"Oh, Two-Bit, don't," Soda murmurs.

"Huh." Two-Bit eyes the photo. "Your dad sure looks different in this photo, Dar." He squints. "Your mom seems happy as peach pie—"

"Give me that," Darry snaps, grabbing the photo. Standing, he stalks inside, minutes away from throttling Two-Bit.

"Do we have a thing against peach pie?" Two-Bit asks, propping his hands on his hips.

I cross my arms. "Boy, you have no idea."

oOo

"Soda?"

"Huh?"

"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but uh, you just dumped salt in your coffee. Plus, you hate coffee." Steve pauses. "Kid keep you up last night?"

"No," I say, taking a taste of the liquid anyway and grimacing. "And leave him alone. I mean it Steve, I ain't dealing with this shit today."

Steve pulls away from the drive-through and parks in the parking lot of McDonald's. He cuts the engine. "You want to tell me what's going on then? You've been in a pissy mood ever since we left."

Finished with the coffee I roll the window down and hurl the cup and its contents across the lot. I prop an elbow onto the window and sigh. I tell Steve the story, keeping it brief and his dark eyes get wide. When I'm done he whistles.

"I'm gonna kill that creep," I say, "for giving Pony the wrong idea."

Steve looks doubtful. He starts the truck. "Soda, man, what if—"

"I will punch you in the face if you finish that sentence, Steve. It ain't true."

"You're probably right," Steve says, checking his blind spot and squealing his tires in the direction of the DX. "Probably a bunch of bullshit."

I try to ignore the ball of lead in my stomach.

oOo

When we pull into the DX, Darry's truck is parked out front. "What's muscles doing here?" Steve asks as both of us climb out.

Darry's at the front desk, chatting with Lloyd. Lloyd looks over. "You're late Randle." Steve goes to clock in, punching his card hard.

"What're you doin' here, Darry?"

Darry doesn't look too happy to see me. "Got Mercer's address," he says, quickly pocketing what looks like an invoice. "Thanks Lloyd, I appreciate it."

"Made me dig through a stack of papers," Lloyd grumbles, "But you got what you wanted, Curtis." Lloyd gives him a nod, moving to answer the phone.

I follow Darry out front. He has his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. "I'm gonna drive over there today, talk to this guy."

"I want to go," I say and Darry begins shaking his head. "Darry, come—"

"You got work, Sodapop."

"So do you."

"I took it off," Darry says. "I can't have this hanging over our heads."

"Jesus, Darry, I don't see why I—"

"One of us needs to work, Sodapop. So stop arguing with me and just do it."

Dumbfounded, I watch Darry get in his truck and drive off without another word."Damn it, Darry," I mutter, hoping my brother knows what he's doing. Because I sure as hell don't.

oOo

3426 Quail Pointe Road is on the outskirts of Tulsa, maybe about 20 minutes. It's a dusty stretch of dirt road that leads to a huge two-story farmhouse. A great big deck surrounds the front, a balcony up top. Some type of mangy dog rolls in the dirt. I see the Impala sitting out front that Ponyboy's mentioned.

I ring the bell and wait. I know Soda's mad at me but I couldn't bring him along and try to worry about his emotions when I'm trying to get a grip on my own. I already want to take a swing at this guy and I haven't even met him.

"Si?"

At first I think I have the wrong address. A tiny, old Mexican woman stands in the doorway. Her face is pleasant and wrinkled. "I was looking for a Thomas Mercer. Is he here?"

"He certainly is," a voice drawls.

I turn and Thomas Mercer is coming across the lawn. The dog bounds over to his side and kneeling in the dirt he gives it a bellyrub before resuming his walk. "It's okay, Rita," he tells the woman and then says something in Spanish. She shuts the door.

"I imagine you're here about Ponyboy."

"I want to talk to you," I say, my hands balling into fists at my side. "And I want to talk to you now."

oOo

"Wanna split, kid?"

Two-Bit's grinning face greets me. I shove my sandwich into its paper sack. "I knew you'd come back to high school."

He scoffs. "Ponyboy Curtis, clearly you do not know me at all." His smile gets wider. "So whaddya say? Let's go see a movie or something."

"Darry'd skin me," I tell him, although I really do want to go. I haven't been able to concentrate in any of my classes. I turned my math homework to my English class.

"He'll never know," Two-Bit says. "At least he won't hear it from me. C'mon kid, let's do it."

I hop off the picnic bench, knowing that within the time span of this morning and this afternoon someone's told Two-Bit about what went on last night. My friend offering to keep a secret just doesn't happen much these days. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and look forward to forgetting my current situation for a few hours.

oOo

"Thank you, Rita," Cowboy says, taking a cup of coffee from the Mexican woman. "You want a drink?"

"No."

He takes a sip, says something in Spanish and she vanishes. He sets his cup on the coffee table in front of us. "So you want to talk about Ponyboy."

"I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about my mother." Cowboy raises a brow. "How did you know her?"

"I'll tell ya," Cowboy says, a wistful expression on his face. "But I understand you're her son and you ain't gonna like it much." He sighs. "Lara and I met at the stables. I was working as a farm hand and gave her some lessons on one of the pintos."

I go still. I briefly remember my mom had said she wanted a hobby. On weekends she'd go down to a farm and ride. Sometimes she brought Sodapop with her; it's where my brother first fell in love with horses. I rub my palms on my jeans, the couch beneath me suddenly uncomfortable.

"Eventually, well, I'll spare you the details but…" He shakes his head. "It wasn't right and I ain't proud of it – neither of us was – but it happened. We called it off about six months after it started. Lara said she felt too guilty and I respected her decision. But then she found out she was pregnant with our son and—"

"Wait a minute," I warn, my face getting hot. "There's no proof of that. All this proves is that you and my mom…" I trail off, unable to say it. "The other thing – Pony – Mister, you're making a claim you got no right to."

"If photos aren't working for you, I can get you letters."

"Letters?"

"A whole bunch of 'em written in your mama's hand."

oOo

There are about a dozen letters in my mother's familiar script and with each one I read warning bells begin to ring in my head.

_Thomas, thank you for the lighter. It's a very pretty thing, although it is taking me back the bad habits I used to have as a girl. My mama always told me not to smoke and happily, I broke that rule. Thank you. I'll treasure it always…_

_Dearest Thomas, you wrote last week about what you wanted. I'm sorry, so sorry to have done this, but I can't be what you want. I have a husband and two little boys who mean the world. I'll never forgive myself but don't regret meeting you…_

…_What are we going to do? There should have never been an us…but now it looks like…well, it looks like I'm pregnant Thomas. We were so careful and now…_

The last letter seals it – and as much as I want to resist – it slaps me in the face. "Take it," I say, giving the letter back to the Cowboy. Disgust and hopelessness clouds my vision, all I see is red.

"Darrel, I respected Lara's wishes that I'd never say anything or approach your brother. She wanted your father to raise him. But it was mighty hard seeing them all over town. So I moved away."

Rita comes and takes his cup. Cowboy removes his hat. "I moved back after I heard about your parents. I am truly sorry for that. I still can't believe that Lara—" He clears his throat. "I wasn't planning to say anything to Ponyboy but when I saw him…well hell, I just wanted to meet him…"

"My brother is not your son. You hear me?"

"Darrel—"

"No."

I stand; look down on the man I'm so close to taking a swing at right now. "I catch you around my brother and so help me god you'll answer to me." I bang the front door open and storm down the steps, the mangy dog bounding at my heels.

oOo

Two-Bit walks me home after the movie. He's chattering non-stop about Steve's grumpiness these days, why he still thinks the earth is flat and what if every woman in the world was blonde. "My god," he says, "it'd be like a smorgasbord."

"Do you even know what that word means?"

"I like to imagine it involves food of some sort." Two-Bit pats his stomach. I shrug; I'll give it to him.

We stop in front of my house. No one's home. Darry's truck gone, Steve and Soda still at the DX. "You, uh, wanna come in?" I ask. "Stay for dinner?"

"Might as well. Got nothin' better to do."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's just a picture, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says as we climb the steps.

"What?" I turn back. An awkward grimace lines his face.

"The photo of your ma and that—that guy. It's just a picture."

"Yeah, and you know what they say about those."

Nervous, Two-Bit chews his lip. "Just hang tight, kid. It'll be okay."

I smile, hoping my friend's right. "So who told you?"

"A little birdie named Stevie."

"Figures." We go inside and I shut the door against the chill brewing in the air.

oOo

I feel like a failure. I couldn't fix this for Ponyboy, for Sodapop; for us. If anything I've made it worse by opening up a can of worms. I know more than I ever wanted too. My mouth tastes like cotton. I punch the steering wheel. Once, twice, and continue until my knuckles are bloody. Just when things are going right everything falls apart.

Of course it would. This is what I get for trying to live a normal life. For trying to do too many things at once. Take care of them, go to school, juggle a girl. A rage flies through me.

The truck veers off down the interstate, pushing hard toward 70 mph. I think of my brothers. What'll I tell them? Soda will never believe it, Ponyboy will. Hell, I barely know what to think myself. My hands tighten around the wheel remembering the words my mother wrote to that sorry son-of-a-bitch.

I keep the truck at a steady speed, whipping through town. The familiar feeling descends, the one I've felt only three times in my life: once, when I lost a six-year-old Sodapop at the grocery store for a good hour and the second when my parents died, the third when I hit Ponyboy. The hopeless, claustrophobic despair. I pass the DX, pass my own house and selfishly continue my path out of town, not sure of where I'm going but needing to get away. To be anywhere other than here, pushing my brothers far from my mind at the moment.

oOo

"Something sure smells good," I call out.

Two-Bit's voice floats from the kitchen. "We're making dumplings. Of the soup variety."

"Hey, Sodapop!" Ponyboy's eyes light up. He's at the stove, stirring a pot of soup. I toss my bag down.

"Hey, kiddo," I say, grateful he's smiling; no hint of last night on his face. "How was your day?"

"Two-Bit and I went to a movie," he says.

"Jesus," Steve and Two-Bit swear in unison. Then, Two-Bit exclaims, "Glory, kid! Don't ever let the cops interrogate you; you'll spill the beans in a heartbeat."

"It's Soda," Ponyboy says with a shrug. It's that shrug that makes me want to scoop my little brother up and give him a hug. He points the spoon at me then swings it over to Steve. "Besides, I'm sure he'd find out from Steve anyway."

Steve barks out a laugh and heads to Pony's old bedroom, which he's now crashing in. "Kid, you're a shit."

I pull Two-Bit aside. "Thanks, man. For distracting him today."

Two-Bit holds up a hand. "I'll send you an IOU. And a bill. And a Christmas card. But not Easter. Because I just don't go there." He glances over his shoulder. "You get any news from ol' muscles yet?"

"No," I say. "He should be home soon though."

"You don't think he ran the guy over or anything, do you?"

"Let's hope not. I ain't got enough money for bail."

oOo

Steve sets a bowl of soup in front of me. "Here you go, kid, eat up." It's suspicious Steve Randle waiting on me. Across the room, Two-Bit makes a face, drags a finger across his throat.

"I don't want this."

"What?" comes Steve's curt reply. "Just eat it and—"

"It's too much. Swap bowls with me willya?"

"Kid, I swear—"

"C'mon, Steve. Be a pal." Soda's frozen, his spoon inches from his mouth. He's trying not to laugh and miserably failing.

Steve stands, gives me his bowl and takes mine to the sink. He dumps the contents down the drain. I sit back in my chair, rocking on the legs. Two-Bit hoots. "Too smart for you, Stevie."

"So what was in it?" I ask, unable to contain my smirk.

"_Head and Shoulders_."

I wrinkle my nose, thinking of how it would have tasted. "Gross."

"Was it hard for you, Steve?" Two-Bit asks. "Uncapping the bottle with one hand?"

Soda and I burst into wild laughter. He's covering his eyes, avoiding Steve's glare. "Screw all of you," Steve snaps. "I hate this damn house."

oOo

I buy a half bottle of Jack Daniels from an old bar out on the highway and park my truck down in the ditch. I take a few chugs, realizing how much I hate hard liquor and chuck the bottle into the truck bed. I decide to calm down before heading home. I rest by head back against the seat and before I realize it sleep takes hold.

oOo

Even though no one says anything we're all keeping watch. Steve's in Darry's recliner, his feet propped up, Soda and I on the couch and Two-Bit's on the floor in front of the TV. I yawn and Soda throws his arm around me.

"Go to bed, kiddo."

Scowling, I try to pull myself out of Soda's headlock. I know he knows where Darry is, but no one's talking. "Is this about mom? The photos?" I ask, sick of everyone pretending. All heads turn my way. "Is that why he ain't back?"

Guilt tugs down deep. Guilt that I should have shut my trap; that I never should have snooped around, talked to the Cowboy. If I hadn't we'd be sitting pretty, nothing this heavy on our minds.

"Oh, hey, Pony," Soda says. "Don't you worry. He's probably just with that girl he likes."

Two-Bit rolls onto his back like a cat. "Darry's got a girl?"

"Where've you been?" Steve says.

"Apparently not here, moochin' off the Curtis's."

"Whatever, man," Steve snaps, Two-Bit apparently hitting a sore spot. He catches me watching him and avoids my eyes.

"And the best part is," Soda continues, trying to deflect tension, "she's blonde, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit moans and begins his _woe-is-me_ lament. I'm too worried to even listen. It feels like a weight's sitting tight on top of my chest. I chew a nail. Wonder what I've done.

oOo

"Shit. _Shit_. Shit!"

"Not here. Outside," Steve says, shoving me out the front door, Two-Bit following. Inside, Ponyboy's passed out on the couch, a pile of blankets dumped on him. It's three in the morning and my oldest brother hasn't showed.

Two-Bit's pacing. "Darry flipped. He killed him, he probably really killed him and now he's on the lam…"

"Shut up, idiot," Steve snaps. He turns to me. "Darry's smarter than that Sodapop. Like you said he's probably with his girl—"

"He would've called," I say. "No matter what he would have called." I smear a hand through my hair, paranoia taking hold. _Darry killed the guy. He was in a car accident. He decided he'd had enough of Pony and I and took off for Mexico—_

I shake my head, clearing it. I exhale, calming myself. My breath is white and cloudy in the cold night air of March. "So what should I do?"

Steve and Two-Bit look at each other. "Wait until morning," Steve says. "He'll be back."

oOo

_You guys all rock for the reads and reviews. Seriously. You make it easy to keep writing._

_Thanks so much and keep it up and I'll keep up the updates. _

_Pardon typos._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	6. 99 Problems

_The usual: Cursing. Long chapter. SE Hinton owns._

99 Problems

OoO

I take the roads home early in the morning, as the sun's rising. I take them fast too, knowing Soda's probably climbing the walls by now. I haven't called and I always call. I run a hand down my grizzled chin and punch the gas. _God, what am I going to tell them?_

I almost want to lie, to say I found nothing and be done with it. Yet something tells me the Cowboy will come knocking sooner rather than later.

The best thing to do is just tell the truth. As painful and as hard as that will be.

OoO

"Jesus, Dar, where the hell have you been?"

Darry looks like he's had a long night. Dark circles under his eyes, the beard making him look older than he is. Shutting the door with a quiet clack, he sits on the arm of the couch.

"I've been worried sick," I say, hunting around the living room for my socks. "I didn't know whether to call the cops or call into work or—" That's when I notice the knuckles on his right hand. The skin's shredded across all four of them.

"Whose face you punch?"

"I didn't punch a face," Darry says, glancing around the living room. "Where's Ponyboy?"

"Shower." I find one sock under the couch, the other on top of a lamp. "You should let me look at those. Bandage 'em up."

"I'm okay."

"Darry…" I sink into his recliner. "You want to tell me what happened last night?"

"I talked to Thomas Mercer," he begins slowly and his voice cracks. He props his hands on the thighs of his jeans, muscular arms bulging. Darry sighs. "There's no easy way to say this…but…well, he was right."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Sodapop — _and goddamn it_ – I don't want to believe it but it's true."

I shake my head, refusing to believe. "No, Darry. No it ain't. It can't be."

"Listen, buddy—"

"This is such bullshit, Darry! We're just gonna take some stranger's word for it and—"

"He has pictures, Soda. _Letters_ from mom." I just stare at my oldest brother, wondering how he can be so emotionless and practical. How he can accept it so calmly. "I can't argue with those," Darry wearily continues. "I wanted to…but I couldn't…"

"And me? What'd he say about me?"

Darry's ice-blue eyes go wide. I glance over my shoulder and Ponyboy's standing in the living room. He's dressed, ready for school, his hair still damp and messed from the shower. Pony moves further into the living room. He crosses his arms, defenses up.

"The same thing, Ponyboy," Darry says.

"It's true?"

Darry's Adam's apple bobs. "Kiddo, c'mere…" He sticks an arm out but Pony doesn't budge. Darry speaks carefully. "Listen…I don't want it to be true but…but it seems—it seems like there's a possibility..." Pony pales instantly and Darry hurries on. "This doesn't change a thing, kiddo, you know that right?"

He looks at me. "Soda?" I open my mouth and then Pony takes a step back.

"I have to go to school."

"I can call you out today," Darry says. "I can stay and we can tal—"

"No." Pony shakes his head. His eyes shine. "No, I wanna go. I need to get out of here. You need to work too."

In disbelief I watch as Darry nods and Ponyboy disappears out the front door. It's been five minutes when I realize he's walked out without his backpack or jacket. "I can't believe you just let him walk outta here."

My brother stands, looking lost, like he doesn't know what to do next. "What do you expect me to do, Soda? I can't make him talk."

"But you sure made him listen didn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, hell, Darry," I say, close to snapping. I lean forward and run a hand through my hair. "You ain't even upset about this. You just walk in and tell us mom had an affair and Pony has a different father like you're ordering a beer at a bar. How come you're buying this shit so easily?"

"Soda," Darry says, and his voice is hard. Hurt. "Nothing about this is easy." He squeezes his right hand into a fist, says, "I have to get ready for work," and leaves me sitting in the living room alone.

OoO

A _possibility_. According to Darry I'm a possibility.

School's my only saving grace. It makes me concentrate on algebra and biology instead of the shocker of a bombshell Darry dropped this morning. I still can't believe it. I go through the day in a daze, once even trying to open a locker that isn't mine.

After class, I skip practice but I don't go home. My heart feels on fire. I wonder how my mom could have done this. I wonder who this Thomas Mercer is. I wonder what happens next. And most of all, I wonder who I really am. All my brain wants to do is examine, ask questions. But I'm too tired to be curious. I want something mind-numbing. So I go find Curly Shepard.

OoO

"Curtis, whoa…" Biff Ryan grabs my bicep as I nearly topple over, taking the load of roofing with me. Instead, he steadies me and only the 2 x 4s go flying. They hit the ground with a loud smack.

"Shit," I swear, staring down at them, my head not where it should be.

"What's with you today, boss? Biff asks. "You got the jitters."

Ignoring him, I bark at the team below, telling them to get everything in order before the shift is through. I climb down the side of the roof, exhale, and check my watch. I have class tonight but all I want to do is skip and get home to my brothers even though I don't know how to deal with – or explain – any of this. But the time for second guessing is over. I better damn well do it.

OoO

We watch the arrows fly high. I stick an unlit smoke behind my ear and take my turn on the crossbow. I pull back, release and the arrow goes flying, sticking into a large oak tree like a giant needle. Curly whoops, drains his beer.

"Nice shot, Curtis. My turn."

I sit on the gravel bank of the lake and light my cigarette. The wind whips, storm clouds brewing above. Curly shoots his arrow into the sky and I look up, shielding my eyes from the dying sun, dizzy from everything that's happened when there's a shooting pain against my side.

I glance down. The arrow's nicked my right side, now it lies behind me in the gravel. A small trail of blood trickles. It's just a thin slice but it stings something fierce.

Curly's biting his lip. "Oops. I aimed low."

"No shit." I throw my cigarette onto the earth.

OoO

"Soda, calm down, man."

"It's just like _fucking_ Sandy all over again, Steve. And you want to know the sick kicker of all of this? It's my mom, man. My own mom screwed around on my dad. She screwed around on all of us."

"Soda—"

"There's not any excuse for it, Steve. It's bullshit is what it is." I grab my jacket from the back office and clock out from my shift. It's been a long day and having kept most of it in, trying to deny, I'm only now finally spitting it out thanks to Steve's endless prodding.

"I'm not making an excuse, man," Steve says, following me outside. "I'm just..." He pauses, searching. "I'm just saying...she's not here anymore and it's in the past. And whatever she did – your mom still ain't Sandy."

"It ain't in the past," I snap. "It's here and it's wearing goddamn cowboy hat." I let out a sigh and lean back against the side of the DX. I tug the brim of my cap down and stick a cigarette in my mouth. "I don't know what to do. I don't get how Darry's so calm."

Steve gives me a look as we start walking to his truck. "You gotta give Darry a break, Sodapop. Superman's doin' his best. And you know that too, so don't start acting like an asshole."

"Yeah." I groan. "So what do I do?"

"You deal with it, man. And we go home because I'm fuckin' starving."

I stop. "I can't go home."

Steve sighs. "Soda…"

"I gotta go blow off some steam."

In the process of opening his door, Steve shuts it. "I'll go with you."

"No. Go back to the house. Check on Ponyboy for me."

"C'mon, man." Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure the last thing the kid wants to see is me playing Mary Poppins."

"But you're so good at it." I crack a smile. "Be a buddy, Steve. I'll be back in an hour."

"Goddamn it, fine," Steve swears and opens his door, climbing in with his good arm. "Don't say I never did nothin' for you."

I give him a wave as he starts up the truck. "Try to keep the insults to a minimum."

"That," Steve says with a wicked grin, "is something I can't promise."

OoO

I'm halfway to my class when I pull over to a gas station on the side of the road. I use the payphone to call Josie.

"I can't make it tonight."

"Anything the matter?"

"Pretty much everything but I can't get into that now."

I can hear her thinking over the phone, then she says, "I'll let you know if we have any homework. We can meet later this week?"

"We'll grab lunch."

"It's a date," Josie says before hanging up.

OoO

After everything that's happened what really sets me off is the empty house. I get home and there's no one. It's just a quiet house with four walls, making me think of a different life. All the what-ifs. A scary time to be alone with my thoughts: _The Cowboy; this isn't something that can be undone. This is a life changer. My mom's not who I think she was. And my dad—did he know? Did he have any idea? What about Darry? Maybe the reason we've never got along was because he knew about—_

It's then that it really dawns. The news from this morning kicks in. "Oh, shit, no," I say with sob. The room blurs and it's like a freight train rushing down on me.

OoO

The backdoor squeaks. Soft bootsteps that I know aren't Darry's. I don't bother turning around. My side feels stiff and frozen from the dried blood. It stings too. _Stupid Curly._

"Aw, not you too, kid." Steve sounds exhausted. "I got enough to worry about with Soda freaking out then to come out here and find you bawlin'."

Hastily, I wipe my eyes. "I ain't bawlin."

"Right. Can't bullshit a bullshitter, Pone."

"Just go away, Steve."

There's a loud sigh and then Steve Randle sits beside me on the back steps of the porch. I keep my eyes on the dead grass of our lawn. "You know, I heard about everything from Sodapop…"

"So you what? Came to rub it in? Tell me I'm not really a Curtis?"

The longest silence lingers. Then, Steve's voice is harsh, "Ponyboy, don't think just because you're in a tough spot right now I won't beat the everlovin' shit out of you." Finally, I look at him and his eyes are seriously dark. "Don't you dare be spoutin off about that to Darry or Sodapop, you hear me? Fuck, you want to kill them quick, that'll do it."

I bite my lip, knowing he's right. Steve swears again. He lights a smoke. Breathes in. "Tell me you ain't really thinkin that?"

"I don't know what to think," I mutter. "I'm just all kinds of messed up right now."

"Yeah," Steve says, "you and me both." Sticking the cigarette between his lips, he runs a hand down the side of his sling. Clears his throat. "I'm starving. What do you say we make some dinner?"

Startled, I raise my eyes. "With you?"

"Hell, Ponyboy, don't look so shocked."

"Where's Sodapop?"

"Had to run an errand or two."

I shift. "Okay…but before dinner I need you to help me with something."

Suspicious, Steve frowns. "What's that?"

OoO

When I walk in the front door I'm greeted by two things: the smell of spaghetti on the stove and Steve Randle swearing a blue streak. His angry voice drifts out of the kitchen, followed by Pony's quieter one. I set my bag on the floor, nearly tripping over one of Soda's work boots. I kick it out of the way; pinch the bridge of my nose.

Pony's sitting on the kitchen table, Steve in a chair. Pony pulls his shirt down when he sees me. His green eyes are saucers, the rims around them red. "You're home," he squeaks, surprised. "I thought you had class."

"What's goin on?"

Steve sits back, tossing something onto the table. "Curly Shepard shot your brother with a crossbow."

"_What_?" I boom at the same time as Ponyboy says, "Thanks a lot," and kicks Steve in the shin.

Steve holds his hands out, stands and moves to stir the sauce. "He'd find out anyway. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." He looks at me. "He's fine, Dar. Just a scratch. He's good as new." Steve smirks. "As good as he can be anyway."

I go to Ponyboy and check out the job Steve's done. His side is bandaged in white gauze and taped up tight. "Thanks for taking care of it," I tell Steve and he waves me off.

Ponyboy slides off the kitchen table. I grab his arm, making him face me. "No more hanging around with Curly Shepard." I still remember the cigarette incident and don't want a future reenactment.

Pony nods and before I can ask him what he's thinking, ask if he's okay, tell him to be careful, tell him we need to talk, he wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes me in a hug. "Okay, Darry," he says, pulling away before I can hug him back.

OoO

I lay my cards down. I grin. The crowd gathered around us murmurs their surprise. I'm on a roll. It's a nice amount of cash. In fact, I feel better already.

"You dirty, cheating, sonofabitch—"

"Cheating ain't got nothin to do with it," I tell the scruffy guy across from me who's been giving me shit all night.

He's a regular at Pinkie's, one of the creeps Steve and I've heard about. So far I've beaten him three times tonight and he doesn't seem to want to give up. He's wearing a Budweiser baseball cap, a tattoo of a cross on his neck. I go to scrape up the few dollar bills I've won in the poker game, planning to give some to Steve and some to Darry, when his fist juts out and grabs my sleeve.

"I'm not done. I want another hand."

"Sorry, man." I stand, pocket the money. "Thanks for your donation." I'm about halfway across the bar when someone spins me around. Instinctively I duck, the fist whizzing above me. I pop back up and shove Budweiser across the bar. He falls over a chair and goes sprawling.

"Do not mess with me tonight," I say, advancing, giving into the recklessness. I grab an ashtray off a table, empty its contents onto the guy's hat. "Here's a consolation prize for being a sore loser." I throw it onto the front of his shirt.

"Bad mistake, man," Budweiser growls. "You're so dead." A brief shiver goes through me but I shrug it off. The neon light of the Pinkie's sign flickers around me as I step out into the darkness.

OoO

Darry's in the doorway of our bedroom. He has his hand on the doorknob, his busted knuckles still bandaged up. "Finish up your homework," he's saying. "Then we'll talk some, okay?" he pulls the door shut and turns.

"You missed dinner, Sodapop."

I jump; unaware I've been caught staring. How much Darry reminded me of my dad just then. "Glory, Dar." I laugh. "You got eyes in the back of your head."

"With you two I better." He sighs. Looks to the ceiling. "Goddamn Curly Shepard shot Pony with an arrow."

I wait for it, ask, "He okay?"

"He's fine." Darry frowns. "Where've you been?" I follow him into the kitchen and there's a stack of spaghetti waiting for me. "We saved you a plate."

I sit down; ready to do something I've been wanting to all day. "Dar, I'm sorry about this morning. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"It's okay," Darry says. He goes and leans up against the counter. Shoves his hands in his pocket. "You were upset and—"

"No." I shake my head. "It's not okay. Blamin' you wasn't right. I just keep thinkin' this can't be happening. I mean, hell, it's like one of Ponyboy's nightmares."

He forces a fake smile. "I think we all don't know what to do with this. But we'll figure it out."

I pick up my fork, then reconsider and push my plate away. "I'll believe it about mom. But I can't about Ponyboy."

Darry just stares at me like I'm a figment of his imagination, his eyes heavy. He sighs. "Soda, I know you don't want to believe it, buddy, but we have to stick together on this. You can't go telling Ponyboy it's not true…when I'm…" He cuts off, like someone pressed mute. "Hell," he mutters. "I don't know what I'm telling him anymore…"

"Darry?"

"What?"

"Do you think dad knew?"

"I don't know, Sodapop." Darry looks old and tired. "I just don't know."

OoO

If this isn't the talk of all talks then holy hell, I'm afraid of what would be. I can tell my brothers don't know what to say, that this conversation hurts and is uncomfortable but the fact that they're trying tells me a lot.

Soda sits with me on the bed, Darry on the chair at my desk. "It's a lot to let sink in," Darry's saying. "But we don't want you to worry about it. You just concentrate on school and track."

_Easy for you to say_, I think. I look at Darry. "So mom really…?"

His nod and his voice are both curt. "Looks like it."

"How could she do that?"

Darry looks like he'd rather be anyplace than here. He rubs his callused palms on the thighs of his jeans. "I can't answer that, kiddo."

I meet Darry's eyes. "What do you think about the Cowboy and me? And tell me the truth."

"Darry…" Soda's tone carries a warning.

"I think…" Darry begins. "I think it's possible but I can't say for sure." His eyes move to the floor.

Soda loops an arm around my neck, bounces next to me. "Nothing's gonna change, Ponyboy. Nothin'. Dad is still your dad. This guy – this asshole – is just trouble. He doesn't know what he's talking about. We won't let him bother you none."

"Soda's right," Darry says. "We'll take care of it."

I chuckle. "Glory, Dar, sounds like you're gonna go break his legs or something." Darry's eyes flick to Sodapop who merely shrugs as if that's been his plan all along.

OoO

A day turns into a week. Pretty soon it's been seven whole days and while I haven't forgotten, everything's kind of numb. It's almost like it never happened except we all still remember. I'm curious and I'm angry, a dangerous side to myself threatening to shake loose. I have questions and want answers. I want to run someplace far and not come back.

I think Soda has the bug too because he's going out most nights to some dive bar. He stays out late and comes home happier than I've seen him in a long time. Darry buries himself into work and school and sometimes I'll catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye when he thinks I'm not looking.

I keep telling myself it's no big deal; that we'll get back to where we were. But right now normal seems a long way from here.

OoO

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit is right." Two-Bit gawks as the guy across from me lays down a straight flush beating my four of a kind.

The loss comes as a surprise because so far I've been winning. It's even worse because the guy I've just lost to is the Budweiser asshole from a week ago. He grins and scrapes up the pile of cash with big, meaty hands. His grin widens as he examines the money.

"You're short."

I curse myself for calling his bluff, for being so cocksure that I had it in the bag. "I'll get you your money."

Two-Bit and I stand and Budweiser steps in front of me. He gives me a shove. Two-Bit braces against me, his body tensing.

"You playing with money you don't have, boy?"

"I have it." A crowd begins to gather. I pull out my wallet. "Here." I show him two dollar bills. "You'll have the rest next week."

"I don't want no IOU."

"You ain't got one. Next week."

Budweiser snarls, "I know who you are. I know you got a big brother and a little one." He raises his hands, a tattoo on his palm. "Next week. And for every day you're late, I'll be watchin' them." He punches a finger in my chest. "Consider that a warning."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you for reading and all the reviews. These chapters are going to be pretty long…I don't want to drag the story out but I feel there's a lot to be said that needs to be still so I'm comfortable with that. I hope you are too._

_Reviews would be divine._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	7. The Calculation of Things

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, Cursing, Long Chapter._

The Calculation of Things

OoO

"What're you doing?"

"Um, nothing." Straightening up, I set Steve's wallet back on the coffee table, embarrassed that the few bucks I've been trying to slip in are sticking out as obvious as all can be.

Steve cocks a brow. "Robbing from the blind, kid?"

"More like from the crippled."

He snorts but still looks pissed. Crosses the room to snatch the wallet. He takes out my dollars and shoves the wallet in his back pocket. "I knew it was you, you little shit. How many times I gotta tell you to stay out of it?"

"You're living at my house. I can't stay out of it."

"God damn it," Steve swears. "You're making me like you less and less every day." He throws the money my way. It hits the floor.

"Funny," I snap, turning on my heel, leaving the cash strewn around the room. "I feel the same way about you."

"This don't make us even for that little stunt you pulled," he shouts as I open the front door. "I'm still gonna get you back."

"Yeah," I mutter under my breath, but I'm smiling. "I'll believe it when see it."

OoO

"Jill Reeser didn't think that."

"Jill Reeser was half blind, man, which explains why she dated you."

"Stevie, you're just jealous I called dibs on her first."

"_Dibs_? I didn't know we were in third grade."

"C'mon guys, shut up," Sodapop says, whacking a broken windshield wiper on the counter. "I can't listen to anymore of this." He points the wiper at Two-Bit. "Jill _was_ blind." Swings it over to Steve who's sitting on a workbench. "And he did call dibs."

My laugh floats through the garage. Two-Bit spins around on the stool. "How's it hanging, Ponyboy? Low and steady? Hard and fast? Or maybe you're like Steve, loose and l—_ow!_"

Two-Bit rubs the back of his neck where Steve's just grabbed the windshield wiper from Sodapop and swatted him across the back of the head.

"What're you doing here?" I ask Two-Bit. "No job yet?"

"I should be asking you the same question."

"I'm still in school."

"Well, I'm here for a job."

"Bullshit." Steve snorts as I cock an eyebrow. "I wouldn't hire you if you were the last mechanic on earth. In fact," he says, jutting his chin my direction. "I'd hire the kid over you."

"Thanks," I mutter, sinking onto another workbench.

"What's goin on, kiddo?" Soda asks.

"I need to borrow a buck. Coach wants us to go out for pizza after practice tonight. Think Darry will be okay with that?"

"I'm sure he'd be fine," Soda slowly begins. "But kiddo, I ain't got any cash right now." Soda's eyes flit to Two-Bit, who's pretending to be interested in the invisible watch on his wrist.

I frown, caught off guard. "Oh...that's okay…I just thought—"

"Take this, Ponyboy." Steve has his wallet out, a dollar in his hand.

"Steve…"

"Just take it and get out of here," Steve says, his voice hard. I take the cash, uneasy about what's going on with Sodapop. As I walk out I catch Steve's eyes. Unlike his voice they're soft and he gives me just the slightest nod.

OoO

"Jesus, Steve, lay off will ya?" I cross the room; the phone's been ringing off the hook ever since I walked in. I touch the receiver and it goes dead. He's been laying into me ever since Pony left the shop.

"Twenty bucks, Soda. Twenty bucks is a big deal. Especially owing it to Hank Greer."

I sit on the couch; smear my face in my hands. "I know. I know it is. Shit man, I feel lousy enough without you rubbing my face in it."

"It's the kid, ain't it?"

"What?"

Steve sits in Darry's recliner and kicks his boots off. "I figured that's who you're worrying about. It always is." I don't miss the sarcasm in his voice. "But sneaking off to Pinkie's, losing money and lying about it isn't the answer, Sodapop."

"I'll get the money."

"When? Will you have it by next week?"

I groan. I better. I goddamn better have that cash or I'll be forced to spill the beans to Darry and then there'll be two people out to kick my ass, not to mention hire Ponyboy a personal babysitter.

OoO

"Thanks for lunch. Sure beats Soda's grape jelly and tuna fish."

Josie wrinkles her nose, stooping to reapply her lipstick in the reflection of the window of her sports car. "I really hope you're joking about that. But if you're not…" She straightens up. "I want to meet them one of these days."

"Soon," I promise. "Things are just crazy at home."

"I can handle crazy, Darry," Josie says, her blonde ponytail bobbing. "You forget, I'm a libra."

"I'm sure you can." I lean over, not really sure what she means, and give her a quick kiss. I check my watch. "I got to get back to work."

"Okay," she says. "Now remember, we have that quiz next week so we better meet to study. And I know it's just a quiz but Professor Brown can be exhausting and—" Josie's brown eyes move off to a spot above my shoulder. I see his reflection in the window. I turn.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Cowboy takes off his hat. "I need to talk to you about Ponyboy."

"I can't talk now."

"How about I meet you at your—"

"No," I say, intent on keeping him as far away from my little brother as possible. "After work, but not there."

"Dottie's Diner, then."

I nod and the Cowboy walks off. "That was him, wasn't it?" Josie's small hand wraps around my bicep. She squeezes.

OoO

"Stop it," I hiss at Sodapop as he practically leaps out of the booth when Thomas Mercer strolls in. The Cowboy's in jeans and a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, his hat tugged down tight, shading his face. "I swear to god, Sodapop, relax…"

Soda shoots me an angry look but slumps in the booth. I hope I haven't made a mistake bringing Soda with me but it's important that we keep a united front. I want Soda to hear first-hand what Thomas Mercer says.

"So what d'you want?" I ask the Cowboy as he gets settled. I rap my fingers on the countertop, impatient. Pony should be getting home from track practice any time and I want to get home as soon as possible, as if just having this meeting is pulling him farther away from me.

Cowboy says to me straight, "I want to be in Ponyboy's life." He plays with the sugar bowl on the table. "I thought that maybe after our last conversation you'd reach out. Or he would. But now I reckon I'll—"

"No way. Absolutely not."

"Darrel, I ain't asking for him to call me dad. I don't want custody. I just want to spend some time with him. The last thing I wanted to do to your family is cause trouble. But you've made it impossible for me to see my s—"

The next words come from Sodapop, who's been sizing the Cowboy up this entire time. "Don't." He points at Thomas Mercer. "Do not even say it because I'm about two seconds away from breaking my fist across your jaw."

"I bet you've got a mean right hook."

"You bet your ass I do." Soda doesn't flinch.

Cowboy leans back in the booth. Thinking, he touches the brim of his hat. "I understand your point. Turning your brother over to a perfect stranger. Letters and photos aren't exactly proof positive…at least in your minds." He opens his hands. "A blood test then. Give me that much."

Soda's dark eyes flick to mine, hesitant. It's a gamble – the best way to rule it out but also a damn good way to turn the power over to Thomas Mercer.

"It's as close as we're gonna get, Darrel," Thomas Mercer says.

Soda swears under his breath as I agree.

OoO

"You come up with any cash yet?"

"Some. Not all of it. I still got time," I say, feeling less than sure. It's been three days and so far I haven't scrounged up a thing.

"You tell Superman?"

"Not yet. I don't know, Two-Bit, now ain't exactly the best time for—"

Two-Bit and I sit up in the hard waiting room chairs as a pale Ponyboy exits the doctor's office, a white bandage wrapped around the crook of his arm.

"Go okay?" I ask,

"Fine," he says with a scowl. "You'd think they'd have blood on file from last time."

Standing, I look at him closely. He means when he got the concussion. "I don't think they took enough then, kiddo," I tell him gently.

"Yeah," Two-Bit says, as we walk down the hall to the registration desk. "They probably wanted a fresh batch." Ponyboy gives him a slightly sick smile, leaning against the wall to wait as I check out.

I prop my elbows on the counter. Behind the glass partition a nurse is pulling our file. She waddles over.

"When do we get the results?"

She examines her chart, reading. "Mr. Mercer's already been tested…once we run the samples against your late father's we should have the results in oh…a day or two…he put a rush on it." She shuts the file. "The doctor will notify you."

When I ask for the bill the nurse tells me it's already been taken care of.

OoO

From its hiding place in the attic I slip the pearl enameled lighter of my mom's into the pocket of my jeans, needing something of hers to feel close, to remember. The minute Darry had told me about the blood test my stomach had shriveled up to the point of even existing.

My brother's hanging up the phone when I enter the living room. He blinks once, and for a minute I doubt he even sees me.

"That was the doctor," Darry says. "We have an appointment at three."

OoO

"The same?" Soda's asking. "How can they be the same?"

The doctor sighs, as if we all should be getting it by now. He hands me the test results and Thomas Mercer a copy. The Cowboy's standing, lounging back against the whitewashed wall, cowboy hat pulled down, darkening his face.

"Your mother was A-negative, Ponyboy's AB-negative," the doctor explains. "Mr. Mercer is B-positive and Mr. Curtis is—_was_ AB-positive. Either of those blood types can result in your brother's, which is quite rare by the way..."

The doctor moves to sit at his desk. He shuffles papers. "You have to understand that while blood types can offer clues about paternity they're not definitive. All we can say here is that Mr. Mercer and _your_ father," he nods at me, "are _not_ excluded from being Ponyboy's biological father."

"So we still don't know," Ponyboy says in a low voice. I glance over. This whole time he's been quiet, and while that's nothing new, his face is glazed, like he doesn't know what to do with this information.

"It's half and half," the doctor announces, sounding bored. "You'll probably never know for certain."

"I'm sorry," he adds as almost an afterthought. "I'm sure this is quite a shock."

OoO

I give Ponyboy some change to get a soda and while he doesn't look like he trusts leaving us alone together he says nothing and goes. The Cowboy watches him turn the corner of the hallway and then says, "Well, seeing as how it's the best we can do, like I said, I'm sure you—"

"No."

"No?"

"We're still right back where we were," I say. "And I don't want to confuse him. I don't want you around my brother."

"Darrel, I understand, but we agreed that if this happened I'd be able to see him."

"_If_ he was your son." Soda's jaw jumps. "I don't know who you are or what you want but you leave my brother alone. He doesn't need your shit."

By the way the Cowboy tenses Soda's said the wrong thing. But that's too damn bad. I'm too mad to worry about that. "Look," I say, jumping in. "Steer clear of Ponyboy."

Cowboy touches the brim of his hat, genuinely worried. "I didn't want it to come to this but if you refuse I may have to seek legal action. I have a right."

"What? No one would ever—"

"I have a friend at the courthouse," the Cowboy says. "I think it's only fair to warn you. I can pull some strings. I don't want custody and I don't want to resort to this but if you resist…" He holds out a hand. "No threat, I'm just giving you fair warning. I only want to see him. Maybe he wants it too. Have you ever even asked him?"

"I know what my brother wants," I warn, taking a step toward the Cowboy. My hands curl into fists. "He is my responsibility and I'll be damned if you're gonna step in and take him away from us."

"He has a right to know. I hope we can come to some sort of agreement…"

"Fuck your agreement," Soda swears, banging a fist on the wall. A few seated patients crane their heads to gawk at us. A nurse steps out from behind the counter. Soda, about five seconds away from decking Thomas Mercer, storms out of the clinic.

OoO

Darry's knuckles are bleached white as he steers the truck home. The glow of the streetlamps filters in through the cab as we pass under them. I'm stuck in the middle, between both my brothers. Soda has an arm looped around my neck.

"So what does this mean?" I ask, sick of the silence and ready to talk. "What'd the Cowboy want?"

Something tells me it had been more than small talk in the hallway of the clinic. Not to mention Sodapop's eyes are on fire; angrier and more bitter than I've ever seen. The test was vague but somehow I don't think it did us any favors. If anything I'm even more confused now.

Darry exchanges a slight glance with Sodapop. "He just wanted to know is all," Sodapop answers.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Ponyboy," Darry says, his face tight. He slows at a stop sign, flips his blinker on and takes a right.

OoO

Darry gives me his third disapproving glance of the night. On my way to bed, I pause in the hallway. "Just say what you wanna say, Dar."

"You can't…" Darry begins, exasperated, "You can't go flyin' off the handle like you did today, Sodapop. It doesn't help our case any."

"What _case_? We ain't gotta prove a case. We're his legal guardians and that asshole doesn't have jack shit." I rub a hand over my eyes, mutter, "I'll take his case and shove it up his ass."

Darry chuckles softly. "Sodapop, I swear to god if you were the oldest you never would have gotten custody of Ponyboy. You'd spontaneously combust the minute the state showed up."

I give Darry a weak smile, his words stinging. While I consider myself reasonable in a fight or the calmest out of Steve and Two-Bit that's nothing compared to the storm inside when it comes to my brothers. Especially with the latest situation. I rub sweaty palms on my jean; I have to get Budweiser that cash.

Darry turns a lamp on, picks up the newspaper on the coffee table. It's an old one; he's behind on reading. "You're right though," I say. Darry looks my way. "I never would have been able to keep him. So thank god, we got you."

Clearing his throat, Darry slowly sits in his recliner. "Sodapop…"

I put a hand on the doorknob. Pony's asleep inside the bedroom. I pause and turn back to my brother, saying what's been on my mind ever since Dottie's Diner. "We shouldn't have done it, Dar," I say, shaking my head, thinking of the already-paid doctor's bill. "We shouldn't have done the test. Now he wants—now he has the power."

"No," Darry says. "He doesn't."

OoO

Ponyboy's laugh filters throughout the house. I smile, happy to hear the sound and grateful to Two-Bit who's brought over a ton of food, claiming he's going to make something called a "scramble" for breakfast. I dump a load of laundry into the washer, measure out the soap, and hope I'm out of the house before I have to taste whatever hellish concoction they're cooking up.

The doorbell rings and instantly the kitchen quiets. Hushed murmuring. I'm shutting the lid when Two-Bit slides into view. "Darry." He hooks a thumb back. "You gotta get out here now."

When I get into the living room a frowning man is standing in the doorway, telling Ponyboy, "Kid, I'm gonna need someone a bit older than you to take this." A white envelope bobs in his hand.

I swear as Pony's eyes narrow. He opens his mouth but before a smartass retort can fly Two-Bit's dragging him away from the front door. He ruffles Pony's hair. "Zip your lips, kid."

Pony elbows him in the side. Two-Bit gives him a shove and I stand straight and firm, facing the man with a calm expression; it's all I can do not to turn around and yell at them to sit down and shut up.

"Can I help you?" I ask the man, crossing my arms. Ponyboy approaches, standing near my side.

"Darrel Curtis?"

"Yes?"

"I have a summons for you to appear in Tulsa's West District Court a week from now." The man hands me a letter, a big gold seal stamped on the front. "Have a nice day."

I rip the letter open, eyes moving over the contents. "I don't believe this…that sonofabitch…"

"Dar?" Two-Bit has his hand out. I give him the letter. Ponyboy stands near the still-open door, his face stormy. "That mother—" Two-But cuts off, finished.

Ponyboy steps up and grabs it from Two-Bit. He reads fast and then looks at me. "I never should have answered that door."

"No," I tell him. "It's not your fault. Look," I cross the room. "Two-Bit, can you take Pony and get out of here for while?"

"Say no more, Darry," Two-Bit says. "I get that you want to yell in complete peace and quiet." He wraps an arm my brother's neck. "C'mon kid. We'll go do manly things on this manly Saturday."

"No way," Pony says. He wriggles out from Two-Bit's arm. "I want to—"

"Just do it, Ponyboy," I snap, aware I'm saying the wrong thing, but my patience is on its last thread. "I don't want to have this conversation with you right now." Hurt, he stares at me a minute and then walks out of the house. Two-Bit rocks on his heels, looks like he wants to say something and then turns and follows Ponyboy out the front door.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you for the read and reviews. So appreciated._

_I did the research on the medical stuff and being that this was the 60s before DNA and all that jazz, this works for the above…at least I do so believe. However, I am sure I overlooked a few things on the scientific realm so be kind. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	8. Still Somebody's Son

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, cursing..._

Still Somebody's Son

OoO

"You okay, kid?" Two-Bit asks for the fifth straight time of the afternoon.

I flip through a stack of records. "I'm just worried," I mutter. "I feel like I started all this."

"Shoot, you gotta stop thinking like that Ponyboy," Two-Bit says. He pulls a Rolling Stones album out and reads the back tracks. "And you didn't start nothing. It was that guy and his meddling ways."

"You sound like a _Hardy Boys_ book." I run a hand over a bone-white record player, wishing we had one instead of our AM-FM radio. "I don't want to know him. I don't want anything to do with him. I don't know why he's doing all…_this_."

I face my friend, needing a second opinion. "Do you think he's right…that I'm…?"

"Glory, kiddo, I can't answer that. No one can."

"Yeah," I mutter. "No one except her…" I don't know what to think. It's fifty-fifty. A coin flip. Either one of them could be my father.

Two-Bit leans against the wall. He clears his throat. "Look…Pony…" A concert poster of Lou Reed hangs above him. His eyes are calm. "Your mama was a good gal. She made me lunch when I lost mine. Protected me from Dally when he tried to make me eat dirt. Laughed at my jokes…"

My chest tightens as I pretend to be interested in the newest releases. "She was a good friend to my ma too," Two-Bit continues. "Helped her out in bad times. Real bad times. So…just remember kid, this one thing she did doesn't make her who she was."

He punches a fist into his palm. "And if this Cowboy character tries to pull any shit I _will_ take you to Texas."

I choke out a wet laugh, and wonder if Two-Bit Mathews is really trying to make me cry in the middle of Parlor Records.

OoO

Darry, his face screwed up and red, has been on the phone for the last hour with a buddy of his from high school that's now pre-law at University of Oklahoma. Steve's on the porch, his cigarette smoke filtering through the screen door.

"So?" I ask as Darry finally hangs up. "What'd he say?"

"We don't have many options. Get a lawyer and fight it or go to court and deal with what the judge says."

"Well, let's fight it."

"We don't have the money to fight it, Sodapop," Darry says, causing me to flinch. "You know that." He shifts in a kitchen chair, rests a palm on top of the receiver.

"What happens if Mercer wins?"

"He won't."

"Glory, Dar, I don't get you. You're so damn sure but we don't really know anything do we?" I pace the living room, anger a blaze in my vision. "We take the test and it's a wash. We thought he wouldn't fight it and then we get this letter. Now he says he has a friend on the bench? So what does that mean? What if they really gave this guy custody? You want to take that chance?"

Darry's face hardens. I can't remember the last time we've been at each other's throats this bad. "Leave it alone, Sodapop."

I feel my jaw jump. I think of Sandy and my mom's face rushes into my mind. How they both lied, hurt others when all I – _we_ – did was trust them. The memory's a kick in my gut; I can't stomach it. "This is such a goddamn mess, Darry!" I shout and my usually stoic brother winces.

"_Sodapop_—"

"It's a mess and it's all because of her."

OoO

The wind whips and whistles. There's a bright glow from the front of my porch and as we get closer I see Steve throw a cigarette into the bushes.

"That's a fire hazard," Two-Bit says.

Steve flips him off. Looks at me. "You uh, might want to stay out of the way," Steve says, sticking a hand out before I can climb up the steps to the front door. "It's rough in there."

"Why?" Before he can respond I get my answer. The shouting inside is loud, nothing I've ever heard before.

"It's bad enough our mom was a—"

"_Don't, Sodapop_. Don't say something you'll regret."

"Why not? It's true, ain't it? We all know that now. She screwed around on dad. So let's just say it…"

"Pony, no," Two-Bit tries to grab me as I bolt for the door, but I rush past him. The screen rattles against the wild wind as I fly into the house. Darry's shaking his head, fists clenched on top of the kitchen table, struggling to keep it together.

"Soda, so help me…"

"Stop it!" I shout. Heads swivel my way, guilt and shame clouding the faces of my brothers. Soda looks like he's crawled out of a trance, the anger dies in his eyes like someone's just turned off a switch. He sinks into a chair, stunned.

"This isn't worth it," I say, my face on fire. "All this—" I lower my eyes, blinking fast. "Darry, I'll just go. Call him and tell him. I'll see him whenever he wants if it will keep him happy. I just don't want the courts. I want to stay here."

"Ponyboy…" Darry begins. "Kiddo, I'm sor—"

"It won't mean anything," I say, cutting him off, my words braver than I feel. "It won't mean a thing."

I'm a traitor. A traitor to my dad and that's why my brothers are fighting so hard. But I can't let it go on like this. Not when I can fix it.

OoO

"You call me if you want to get out of there."

"I will."

"I'll be at work until four but just call the office and they'll—"

"I know. I got it, Darry."

"I can come and get you anytime."

Sighing, Ponyboy slouches low in his seat, the seatbelt drooping across his chest. "You said that five minutes ago," he mutters.

"I just want to make sure you're okay doing this."

"Relax, Darry. I'll be fine." Ponyboy turns his face away from the window, shooting me a crooked smile. The sun's low in the sky, late Saturday morning sunrise blooming over the countryside. "_Really_."

Ever since Ponyboy told us last week he'd meet with Thomas Mercer to get him off our backs it seemed like best option at the time. Now, driving my brother out to the Cowboy's ranch, far from the outskirts of Tulsa, it hits me like a stack of bricks. I don't like it at all. Dropping him off and leaving him alone with a complete stranger is unsettling.

I'm beginning to wonder if Soda was right; we should have fought.

Although if this is what it takes to put Thomas Mercer off then I'll do anything to get him out of our lives. I'll make all this right. Even though I really could kill that son of a bitch right now.

I glance at Ponyboy out of the corner of my eye and am reminded how young he still is. A year ago he lost his best friend, two years his parents and now this. He's all long legs and arms, could use a few pounds on his frame, brown hair in his face, a bit darker than last year but he's still a kid.

I steer us into the dirt front yard that passes as the Cowboy's driveway. I shift the truck into park. "No." Ponyboy stops me when I move to unbuckle. "You ain't gotta come in, Dar."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he says. Nervously, he glances back at the house. He grimaces. "This is so weird."

"You sure you're okay?"

"You can come get me at five, right?"

"I'll be here."

Pony nods, ripping his seatbelt off. He's out of the truck before I can tell him goodbye. He climbs the porch and knocks. I wait until the front door opens and he steps inside, swallowed into the house.

Doing the right thing scares the living shit out of me.

OoO

I'm let in the house and instantly a slobbering dog starts pawing at my legs, bounding and dancing around. I laugh, kneeling down to give the dog a pat on its furry head. "Good dog," I tell it.

I glance up at the Mexican woman who's answered the door. She's in her sixties, deep wrinkles lining her face. She clasps her hands. "Oh, _mijo_," she says, beaming.

"Uh, hello," I say, standing. "I'm Pon—"

"Oh, no, no," she says, a trace of a foreign accent lingering, stilted English clouding her voice. She waves me off. "I know who you are. Let me get _Tomas_, he will be so happy you are here." She waddles off, shouts, "Goosey!" and immediately the dog bounds after her.

I raise my eyes to the ceiling and take in the massive house. Stairs rise to a second floor, hardwood floors, an enormous kitchen with a countertop and stools. After a minute or two Thomas Mercer comes walking around the corner, hands hooked through his belt loops, the cowboy hat on top of his head. He takes it off and that's when I really see his eyes. I could be looking in a mirror.

"You okay, son?" he asks.

"Don't call me that," I snap, looking away. "I'm fine."

"Well, then," he says with a brash grin. "I see you already met Margarita, so let me show you around."

OoO

Gray clouds blow over the hills. The wind chimes on the Cowboy's back porch begin tinkling as the wind picks up. He's showing me around his farm, which I have to admit is pretty damn cool. It's massive too. Behind the old farmhouse there's a lake surrounded by large gnarled and weathered oak trees, a barn to the right of the lake and a dark brown wooden fence surrounding a pen full of grazing Appaloosas.

There's also a bright red Corvette parked near the porch that Soda would die for.

The Cowboy waves at me to follow him into the field, his call lost on the wind. Rita shouts something in Spanish and calls me _mijo_.

"So who's that?" I ask when I meet him at the barn. "The woman." The way Rita's been acting makes me think the Cowboy's told her a few things. That they're close.

"Oh, ol' Rita's been around a long time. Raised me and I kind of just kept her around."

I give him a look I'd give a Soc; disgust mixed with disdain, and bend down to pet the Goosey the chocolate Labrador who's tagging along. "Is she your maid?"

"Never say that word around, Rita," Cowboy barks a laugh out and swings the barn door open. "She'll put a curse on you. She's more than that though…"

The barn's full of hay bales, feed and stables. Saddles are draped over chairs, a musky horsey order coating everything inside. Goosey barrels inside and begins rolling all over the floor. I move around the barn, dreading this day. I want it to be over with. I want to go back home. I don't want to know this man; this man who wrecked everything, disrupting our lives.

The worst part is his eyes. He catches me staring. "Let's go check on the horses."

OoO

When we're done feeding the horses, we head back to the house, Rita calling us to lunch. Dust kicks up under our feet as Goosey bounds alongside Thomas Mercer. He glances my way.

"I know you don't want to be here," he says. "So thanks for giving me a chance."

"I didn't really have a choice."

"I ain't planning to take you away from your family, Ponyboy. I know you've been through enough, with your friends and all and the state…"

"Could've fooled me." I bring a cigarette to my lips and breathe in.

He shoots me a grin, tips his hat. "I can be really stubborn when I don't get what I want."

"That what you said to my mom too?"

Startled, the Cowboy's voice is soft. "You sure got some mouth on you, kid."

I think of Darry and know he'd agree.

"Look, Ponyboy, I'll tell you about whatever you want," Cowboy says. "It's no fun being kept in the dark. Just ask and I'll tell ya." Goosey whines and the Cowboy sinks into a squat, running a hand across her dark coat. He looks up into my face.

"I thought it was time you knew, son. Hell, if you end up hating me after this, so be it. I'll let you go, I'll leave you alone. I just wanted a shot."

"I already hate you." I dig my shoes in the dirt and stare ahead into the sun, my chest tight.

OoO

It's our one free Saturday in a long time and instead of doing something productive we go get a drink on the strip. "Stop," Steve says, pointing at me as our drinks are set down. "Stop thinking about the kid."

"Man, shut up." I light a cigarette, betraying my nerves. I wish I could be with Ponyboy today, instead of sitting here wondering how it's going, how's he doing.

"Here," Two-Bit says. "I scraped together a buck. Couch cushions come in handy."

"I got two," Steve says, piling the money on top of Two-Bit's. He sneers. "Only seventeen more to go."

I never thought I'd be in a position like this, one I can't get out of. It's been a little over a week since Budweiser's threat and the fact that I haven't heard from him worries me. I tried hard to help Steve and it only ended blowing up in my face.

"You gonna tell Darry?" Two-Bit asks.

"I'm gonna have to. Damn it," I swear. "He doesn't need this on top of everything else."

"Man, he is gonna flip his shit," Two-Bit says. "Into overdrive."

Steve sits up straight in his chair. Nods. "We've got company."

Hank Greer, better known as Budweiser, is crossing the bar, fists clenched, and a fight on his mind. The uncontrollable urge to grab Budweiser's face and slam it onto the countertop overtakes me. I grip my beer instead. Ready myself.

OoO

"How was it?" I ask as Ponyboy climbs inside the cab. The Cowboy watches me back out, standing on the porch until I turn the corner and can no longer see him.

"Fine. Imagine spending the day with a total stranger."

"What'd you two talk about?"

He shrugs and buckles up. "I didn't have much to say. He showed me around his farm. We had lunch and watched some TV." He rolls his eyes. "Boy howdy, real exciting stuff."

"Pony."

"What."

"Did you talk about—"

"No," he says, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't want to hear about any of that." He looks at me dim green eyes. "All I wanted to do was just get home."

OoO

Darry and Ponyboy enter the house and immediately part ways. Ponyboy heading to our bedroom, barely looking my way, Darry to his. Ten seconds later, Darry's back, changed and reaching for his jacket. He does a double take when he sees my busted lip.

"What the hell happened to you?"

I take a breath, say, "I'm in some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Then – "Are you outta your damn mind?" he hisses when I begin to tell him about the poker with Hank Greer. "Gambling? On top of all this. What were you thinking, Sodapop?"

"Listen, Dar, there's m—"

"Never mind. I don't want to know." He checks his watch. "I have to go," he says. "I'm meeting Josie. We'll talk about this tomorrow." His fed-up expression tells me this isn't up for discussion, one of the only times I've ever seen my brother really frazzled.

I need to tell him about the threat. I know it'll only make him madder but I can't chance it. "Darry, there's something else."

"Not now," he snaps. "Tomorrow. Feed your brother and stay home tonight, Sodapop. Stay out of trouble."

OoO

"Glory, what happened to your face?"

"Long story."

I cross my arms and plop on the bed. Soda has a busted lip and a cut above his eyebrow. "No way. You're telling me. I'm sick of never knowing anything." I cock an eyebrow. "I hear more than you and Darry think."

Soda chuckles. "I know you do. And I'll tell you, kiddo," he gently says, crossing the room, "if you tell me how it went today."

"You first."

"I got in a fight with someone."

"Who?"

"Some guy." He sits next to me. "It's nothing big…but kiddo…"

"Yeah?"

"Keep an eye out. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Shooting him a quizzical glance, I say, "Ain't I always careful?"

"You are but I still worry about you." Soda flashes me his token smile. "That's my job." He leans over, ruffling my hair. "So how'd it go today?"

"It was bad," I say.

"Why?" Soda's face twitches, and I get, in that instant, how bothered my brother is by this. How _angry_. He so doggedly refuses to believe anything; his blinders scare me even though I should know by now how black and white he can be.

Still, I find I can tell Sodapop anything. That I _need_ to tell him. There's a photo on my nightstand of my parents, standing in front of our house, holding hands. The Cowboy flashes into my mind and I wonder how much of my memory he can taint.

"His eyes look like mine," say and Soda's face goes white. "Exactly like them." I play with a stray string on the blanket, sick of pretending, when Sodapop looks at me with one of the worst expressions I've ever seen in my life.

OoO

Bright light of the morning and Sodapop looks utterly miserable. Smoke crowds the air around him, cigarette in his mouth. His lip is better, but it's still fat and swollen. I sit next to him on the porch stairs.

"I'm worried about you, Sodapop," I say. He doesn't look at me. "You're doing some really stupid things these days. You're blowing up too much…fighting…and well, it just ain't like you."

Soda still doesn't turn his head my way. Out of all of us he's taking it the hardest. Pony seems bound and determined to fight, no matter what he believes about this whole mess, while Sodapop just gets mad. I rest a hand on his shoulder.

"You hearin' me buddy?"

"Shoot," Soda says. "I'm sorry, Dar." He chucks his cigarette butt into the grass. "I'm not sure what I'm doing these days. I know you don't need to deal with more of my shit."

"This is hard, I know. But we all have to deal with it." Across the street a lawn mower starts up, signaling the morning has started. "How much are you in for?" He tells me and irritation flickers through me. There's a slight creak, the screen door rattling and I glance back over my shoulder at the noise before returning to my brother.

"Jesus, Soda…"

"I know," he says. He looks at me with dark eyes. "There's something else too."

"What else?"

"I had a week to get the money and I haven't yet…and now Hank's threatening you and Ponyboy." He screws his face up, pained. "God, Darry, I'm so sorry…"

I'm angry. So goddamn angry that Pony's been dragged into this, that it's another thing on my plate that I have to fix, but I stay calm for Soda's sake. "I'll try to get you the money," I say, even though I have no idea how I'm going to do it. "You watch out for Ponyboy, you hear me?"

Soda looks hurt at my admonishment. "Of course, Dar. I'll always do that."

I curl my hands into fists. Say firmly, "You knock this shit off, Sodapop. Cool it on whatever it is you're doing because it's coming back to bite us in the ass."

He nods, staring straight ahead. Soda lights another smoke, bringing the end to his lips. He takes a deep drag, his shoulders hunched and heavy.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_I just love you all. Thank you for reading and reviewing. What can I say?_

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	9. Come In, Come On

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, cursing..._

Come In, Come On

OoO

These days I'm dizzy. Dizzy from all the things I'm hearing and learning about. Like this morning; Soda's got himself in some trouble and Darry's taken on another problem. Overhearing their conversation didn't do a lot for my nerves – I'm smoking cigarettes like crazy – but I'd rather know than be kept in the dark. Everyone's so secretive lately, walking on eggshells. From experience I know that's not the best way to handle things; people blow up or get hurt. Like Sodapop.

I can't remember the last time my brothers have fought this much. Maybe never. They've always been the two to back each other up. To stand strong. Life seems like it's unraveling into strange places.

OoO

After the track meet Sodapop hands Josie a Coke. She laughs and thanks him. Two-Bit tries to juggle the bag of popcorn he's holding, Steve staring at him like he's an idiot. We're milling around the concession stands at Will Rogers waiting for Ponyboy to show. It's the first time anyone's met Josie and now it's his turn.

Josie pokes me in the side. "He's a regular superstar now, you know that right?"

I chuckle, sticking my hands in pockets. Ponyboy comes loping around the corner; he's blushing as his teammates cheer him on, slapping his back and catcalling. He won the meet for the team and while Pony's never cocky this is one thing he takes pride in.

"Hey," he says shyly, approaching the group.

I clap his shoulder. "Great goin' tonight, Pone." I gesture to my right side, pushing her forward. "This is Josie Miller."

Josie shakes his hand, cheerfully pumping it. "You are absolutely adorable." Pony blushes. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, let's _not_ give the kid a complex."

I wait for the retort and am surprised when there's none, Ponyboy giving Steve a slight glance and that's it. Even Soda seems caught off guard. "Nice to meet you," Pony says to Josie.

I wrap my arm around her as Soda gives Pony a big hug, there's a voice from left field. The Cowboy steps into view.

"Nice runnin' kid," Thomas Mercer says. He's in a leather jacket, boots and jeans. "You got some skill."

"Thanks," Pony says. He bites his lip. Steps in front of me when I make a move. "Darry…" His voice is low.

"What're you doing here?"

"Came to see the race. Don't think that's a crime." His eyes dare me to say otherwise.

"It's not," Pony says, trying to keep the peace. "We're gonna go get some food, you want to come?"

The Cowboy takes off his hat, gives Pony a genuinely soft smile. "Thanks but no. I just wanted to watch your meet, nothin else. See you this Saturday?" At this, Pony wilts, his young face somewhere between a frown and a pained expression. But he nods.

I'm about to snap, to tell Thomas Mercer to get the hell out of here when I see Sodapop. He's watching the Cowboy's face with furious intensity, a kind of unfamiliar hatred I'd never think Sodapop could carry. He's only met him twice before – in the dim diner and hospital – and now Soda's dumbstruck. In the harsh lights of the track and with no cowboy hat on, Soda's seen the Thomas Mercer's eyes.

I don't think anyone could miss them.

OoO

"You get the money yet, Sodapop?"

"No."

Steve, Two-Bit and I are out back smoking KOOLS. They shoot each other a grimace but I don't care. I've never felt so bitter. My heart's been kicked around in my chest and just when I thought the talk with Darry would clear me up some, I'm slammed back against a wall.

A warm glow shines from one of the back kitchen windows, light laughter stirring. Inside, Darry, Josie and Ponyboy are getting to know each other over big bowls of ice cream. Pony seemed like he had wanted to run the minute he stepped inside but he's humoring Darry and wolfing down Rocky Road.

"Do I need to rob someone to get that cash?" Two-Bit jokes, though the offer is dead serious. "I will. I'll gladly wait for the Wells Fargo Wagon to come 'round the tracks…"

"No."

Steve paces the lawn. "Soda…"

"No," I say. "I'll figure it out." I ash my smoke, deadened from tonight. "What's with the big concerned act anyway?" Why Steve's suddenly a champion of my little brother is news to me. Any other time I'd relish it, tonight I can't deal.

It's the wrong thing to say. Steve gapes at me. "_Why_ am I concerned? Jesus, Sodapop…what are you on these days?" His face is a grimace. "It's Ponyboy and Darry, man. Nothing's happened yet… but hell, do you really doubt that guy is gonna forget about this?"

"Shut up, Steve."

"Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Steve," Two-Bit pipes up. "It ain't the time."

"I'll tell you when it's the goddamn time," Steve snaps at Two-Bit. He juts his cigarette my way. "Sodapop, you gotta snap out of this. Your mom's not Sandy. Pony's still your brother…" He shakes his head. "Man, I thought the kid was bad, but you're sinking fast."

"Goddamn it, Steve, I know he's my brother." I sit in my chair, feeling my jaw twitch, feeling eyes on me, when suddenly realization gives me a hearty slap. I smear my face in my hands, choke out, "He has his fuckin' eyes, man. What do I do with that?"

Two-Bit leans over in his chair, rests a palm on my back.

OoO

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Since when does a cowboy have a Corvette?"

Thomas Mercer's got the hood of his red Corvette propped up, his hands tinkering with the parts beneath, grease smeared up to his elbows. He gives me a cocky grin. "Beauty, isn't it?"

I cross my arms, leaning back against the passenger door of the car. "Yeah," I grudgingly admit. "It's nice."

"_Nice_, huh?" He chuckles, wipes his palms on the ends of his shirt. "Pony, hand me that wrench will ya?"

I hand it over and he begins messing with the engine. I watch his long fingers work. His hands slim yet muscular. I look at my own, silently comparing. Wondering who's really in there. My mom…my dad…or Thomas Mercer.

He works and I find myself helping him out, holding parts steady and handing him needed tools. He tells me about how he bought his Corvette when he moved away from Tulsa, a spur of the moment decision he's never regretted. "She's been all over the place with me," he says, patting one of the headlights.

"You know…" the Cowboy grunts when we're done, tightening a bolt. He gives me a sideways glance. "You can take this out for a ride if you want. I got no problem with that."

"No," I instantly say. I shake out of my daze, knowing the Cowboy's going to take this for more than it is. "I can borrow Darry's truck whenever I want. I don't need yours." Upset that I've given him that much I stalk off toward the old farmhouse.

OoO

A day later Darry's truck gets its tires sliced. He doesn't say much but his loud stomps throughout the house echo his frustration. I sit on the couch with crossed arms as Darry points at me, says to Sodapop, "You watch him. And you watch him good, Sodapop."

All Soda can do is swear and apologize and even that hurts to watch. He knows he's guilty and being unable to fix it is killing him. Darry's scraped together four bucks, borrowing from Tim, but it's still not enough.

A day after the truck it's my turn.

OoO

The hand that darts from the alleyway wraps around my bicep and tosses me into the dark space. I fly back against the side of the brick building, bounce off and hit the ground to land between two garbage cans. The smell's heavy and I take a breath. This day's about to get a lot worse.

"Get up."

I stand, already knowing who it is. I meet his eyes. Steady my jaw. Hank Greer gives me a once over. "You make it too easy, kid."

"What do you want?"

He grabs my wrist, jerks me forward. His thick fingers dig in hard, pinching skin, and I resist wincing. "You know what I want." His breath is hot and stagnant on my face. "I warned Sodapop and…well…he just doesn't seem to be getting it."

"I'll get you your money."

"You will, will you? I hope so. I hope you're not a liar…" Budweiser's nostrils flare, his eyes nearly red under the harsh alley lights. "Because well…guess what I'll do?" When I don't answer, he jerks my arm again.

"Guess."

"What?"

"I'm gonna break those long legs of yours. One. At. A. Time. Can't have a track star with no running legs, can we?"

I recoil, straight fear flooding me, because this threat is one this guy won't hesitate to make. Budweiser hits me across the face with a meaty fist. Coughing, choking on the liquid filling my mouth, I double over, steadying myself over a garbage can. Black spots blink in my vision.

"Did you hear me?" Budweiser chuckles. "Did you hear—"

"Yeah," I mutter lowly, "I heard you, goddamnit." I spit blood into the gravel and rock. My right hand curls into a fist, my knuckles cracking.

I wait until he's right behind me and then I straighten up and ram my elbow hard into his ribs. It's not much but I hear a sharp noise and then Budweiser's, bellowing, falling backwards into the trash cans. I take off, skidding out of the alley, wiping blood from my teeth.

OoO

The house is dark except for the faint glow coming from the bathroom door. I turn on the kitchen lamp, crack a window and toss my Economics text down on the table. I grab a beer, seeing Steve's truck pull into the driveway.

"Hey Pony," I say, approaching the bathroom. I press a hand against it and it opens. "Have you had din—" I take in the bathroom. Bloody tissues are in the sink, a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the edge of the tub. "What the hell is this?"

"Shit," Pony swears, guilt blooming on his face. His green eyes are as large as caverns.

"What happened to you?"

"Nosebleed," he says with a shrug. "Got popped in the nose during track today." Capping the bottle of rubbing alcohol, he moves to go. I block the exit with my arm.

"You okay?" I touch his chin, tipping it sideways to get a look.

"I'm fine." Ducking, Pony slinks under my arm. He gives me a crooked smile. "Got a lot of homework…gonna get started." He says a brief hi to Soda and Steve before disappearing into his bedroom.

OoO

I do something I never thought I'd do in my life. I ask the Cowboy for help.

OoO

"I need to borrow twenty bucks."

Instead of batting an eye Thomas Mercer whistles. "Lot of money."

He doesn't look up from his newspaper and cup of coffee. I sit across from him at the table and instantly Margarita is setting plate of fruit in front of me and a cup of coffee. Goosey's asleep on the ground next to the Cowboy, her tail curled around her legs.

"I know it is."

"Are you in some sort of trouble, Ponyboy?"

"No, but someone else is."

Slowly, very slowly, the Cowboy folds his paper up. He's in a plaid shirt with the cuffs rolled up, blue jeans and his typical boots. The cowboy hat is nowhere in sight, his hair a rusty brown.

I push the plate of food away though it's tempting. I ditched breakfast at the house and my first class to be here. "I'm only borrowing it," I warn him. "I'll pay you back."

"Oh, I know you will. In fact, I think I have some odd jobs around the house that'll be just perfect for you. Haulin hay, cleaning the stables, picking up dog shit…"

"That sounds like a lot of work," I say, trying not to smile. "But it's a deal."

OoO

I'm waiting for him to take me back to school. Leaning back against his dirty Impala, I watch as he exits the house, shouting a goodbye to Rita and Goosey. There's a wad of bills in his right hand. He sidles over.

"Does this money have anything to do with those bruises on your arm, kid?"

I ash my smoke. "If I said no would you believe me?"

"Probably not." He plunks the cash in my hand but he doesn't let go. "I'll give you what you need son, but I won't ask a second time."

His normally cheerful eyes are serious so I spill it. Mostly because I really need that money and also because I want someone to listen without judgment. Plus, I don't need him thinking Darry was the one who gave me the bruises.

When the Cowboy releases the money, immense relief floods through me. And when I tell him thank you, I really mean it.

OoO

"Here."

Ponyboy's handing me a thick wad of dollar bills when I get home from work and I'm wondering what bank he bumped off. "Where'd you get this?"

"I sold a kidney."

"Real funny…. C'mon, Ponyboy..."

He hesitates. "Look, would you just take it?" He drops his backpack on the couch. "Just take it, Sodapop."

"Tell me."

Steve, hanging up his jacket, sighs. "Look this standoff is real cute but Ponyboy fess the hell up so we know you ain't done nothing illegal." He punches my arm with a closed fist. "And _then_ he'll take it."

"I asked the Cowboy for it," Pony says, drawing up tall.

"You did _what_?"

"You heard me. You needed the money and I got it."

"I don't want it," I say and Steve groans, "C'mon, man…"

"I don't want to owe him a goddamn thing," I say, pointing at Steve. "I'll find another way to—"

"How Sodapop?" Ponyboy shouts and I watch him carefully. "How?" He wheels around, face stormy. "Take it and give him the damn money. I ain't getting my legs broke for this so just _take_ it."

Anti-freeze replaces my blood. Hank got to Ponyboy. I take a step forward and my brother backs up. "He did something didn't he?" My voice is dangerous. "Ponyboy, what did—"

"Pay him off," Pony says in a voice I've never heard before: commanding, furious. He looks me straight in the eye. "Pay him off now."

OoO

"You should have told me."

"I know."

I turn Ponyboy's arm over in my hand, examining the faint yellow and blue marks left there. "God damn it," I mutter, angry with myself for not noticing.

Pony glances at me under lidded eyes. "I'm sorry, Dar."

Releasing his arm, I run a hand through my hair. "You could have been hurt. Ponyboy, I mean, Jesus, what were you thinking? You shouldn't have been walking alone; you shouldn't have tried to handle this yourself, you—"

"Yeah, well, I handled it didn't I?"

I give him a look, knowing I'm reverting to parent-speak, but in this case I'm unable to stop it. "You know what I mean," I say. "We told you to be careful."

"And I was, Darry, okay? I got out of there." Pony rests an elbow on the table, chin in his palm. "Think Soda's okay? The guy'll take the money?"

"Yeah," I say, watching his face. "Steve and Two-Bit are with him. They'll take care of him."

Pony frowns. "Oh, hey, Darry—"

"I don't want you to worry about this." When he starts to protest I shake my head and he quiets. "I should have been paying more attention. Soda and I…well…we've been arguing too much lately, kiddo, and I'm sorry. I know it hasn't been easy."

Pony's mouth moves, empty words, and then finally he says, "I feel like a lie."

"What?"

"I feel like everything's a lie. It's like I don't know what or who I'm made of anymore." He meets my eyes. "I know things can't go back to normal but…hell…I just want things to be civil."

I'm at a loss, stunned by his honest admission. Pony so rarely admits his feelings to me, Soda usually being the one to listen. Pony laughs, a weak sound; his heart isn't in it.

"Remember when you and I used to do all the fighting? Yeah…I think I kind of miss that."

I sit frozen in my seat, realizing he's right. We've all been pulling away, fighting each other, when we needed to deal with it together. And I should have been the one to do that. "Okay," I say.

"Okay what?"

"We'll be better. We'll get through this. All of us."

Pony spreads his long fingers out on the tabletop, blinking fast. He nods, looking like he doesn't believe it.

OoO

"How'd it go?"

Darry's sitting in his recliner in the dark, like some kind of hit man in a TV show. I cross the room, leaving the lights off. "He took the money."

"You don't sound too happy, Sodapop."

"He's pissed at Pony. Broke the guy's rib." I see Darry smile in the dark. "I don't like it," I continue. "I don't like taking the money from—"

"I don't like it either," Darry says, voice cold. "But you did it so deal with it. We don't have to like Thomas Mercer but we can't do this anymore, you got it? We go on with our lives, he doesn't matter." Darry chuckles. "We have to be the bigger person, Sodapop, no matter how much we hate it."

"Glory, you sound exactly like dad." I groan and plop on the couch, kicking my boots off. "I swear to Christ I'll try," I tell him. "I will." I give him an honest smile and this time Darry flips the lamp on.

OoO

"Howdy, son." Thomas Mercer says to Ponyboy. If he's surprised to see me he doesn't show it. He tips his hat. "Darrel."

"Thank you," I say, getting it out there. It's something I'm not happy about but I do it. I swallow my pride to show Ponyboy we'll be okay. That while I may not like the guy I can put up with him. He doesn't have custody. He's just a regular Saturday pain-in-my-ass occurrence.

"Thank you for the money." Beside me, Ponyboy's bowing his head. I give him a nudge. "He shouldn't have asked you for it but I'm glad he did. Got us out of a real tough spot."

"Aw, Dar," Ponyboy says, blushing. "I didn't just take it. I'm gonna pay him back."

"Yeah, I know you will."

"No _thank you's_ necessary, Darrel." Thomas Mercer opens the door a bit wider. "Come in for a minute?"

"No, I can't stay. Just wanted to drop him off and say thanks." He sticks a hand out and I shake it.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_You're so lucky it's not a cliffhanger this chapter. I figured I'd be gentle._

_And I know it's Mother's Day but I hope you all still read and review! _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	10. Even Steven

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, cursing...maybe a cliffie?_

Even Steven

OoO

"Thirsty, _mijo_?"

I take the glass of water from Margarita. "Thanks." I wipe my mouth, dig the pitchfork into the earth and plop on a hay bale. I sneeze; all the hay and weeds I've been shoveling wreaking havoc on my nose. Sweat trickles down my back; it's not hot, but the work's hard.

"You are the spitting image of your mama," Rita says, bustling around. The Cowboy's left to check on a neighbor's pregnant foal, leaving me alone on the farm.

"You knew my mom?"

"Oh, I knew Miss Lara real well." She tucks a strand of gray hair behind her ear. "Always laughin and trying to fight those horses. Said she could tame the wild ones. She did once, nearly took her head off trying." Rita cackles. "She was special. _Muy bonita_."

I smile weakly and stand. "You forget _mijo_," Rita continues. "I've been with _Tomas_ since he was just a baby. I raised that boy. And now…" She gives me a big smile. "There's you."

Giving her back the glass, I shrug uncomfortably. "You ain't got to raise me."

"I know, I know…" She talks fast. "It just makes my heart sing to see you here." She _shoos_ me with her hands. "I let you work now, _mijo_."

As she walks off, I rip the pitchfork from the ground, raising it high above me. Pieces of yellow hay and brown soil rain down, landing in my hair and eyelashes. I wipe dirt from my face.

OoO

Everything's fallen into an easy rhythm. April's turning into May and life goes on.

I keep a close watch on Sodapop and an even closer watch on Ponyboy. Soda's anger has dissolved, at least for now. He's no longer bitter, but he's still wary when it comes to Thomas Mercer. He's trying at least.

Ponyboy keeps a calm face, soldiering through. He's quiet, goes to school, does his homework, and on the weekend works at The Cowboy's farm. He's almost done with this semester and I'm almost done with mine. It's hard to believe, in spite of everything, I've nearly completed my first semester of college.

OoO

"They still ain't home?"

Steve glances up from the TV. "Late shifts."

I frown. "Yeah, I'll bet." I plop on the couch and open my English textbook. I shut it five minutes later, unable to concentrate. I keep thinking about Thomas Mercer and my mother. While I told myself I didn't want to know a thing…suddenly I really want to.

Confused, Steve rubs the back of his head. "You, uh, want dinner or something, kid?"

"No."

"Then what's with the whole moping act?"

"Can't focus." I flop onto my back like a scarecrow, shoot the ceiling an eye roll.

"Tell me about it," Steve says. "I'm bored as hell here." Sitting up, the book falling off my lap, I give him a look. "No offense."

I crack a grin. For once Steve Randle and I aren't arguing, each of us slightly shocked with this new development. Steve moves the recliner into a sitting position. "So what do you want to do Ponyboy?"

"What?"

"Let's go out, go do something."

"With you?"

He scowls. "Shit, kid. I'm offerin ain't I?"

Smiling, I sit up on the couch, a faint idea in the back of my mind. The Cowboy's Corvette. "Teach me how to drive."

"Kid," Steve sounds exasperated. "You know how to drive. Remember? Two-Bit unofficially taught you last year. The whole Dairy Queen fiasco?"

"No," I lean in, wanting to do something impulsive. "Teach me how to drive fast. Teach me to race."

OoO

"This ain't the best to learn on," Steve says as he pulls his truck up to the lookout. "But it'll have to work."

I try to keep a straight face. "Why? No one will let you borrow their car?"

Steve glowers. "You want to learn or not?"

"Sorry," I say. We switch spots, me climbing into the driver's side. I rest my hand on the stick shift.

"Smart ass." He taps the dash. "You'll get the gist of this; you just won't go fast tonight. Which may not be a bad thing since I don't need another accident." I roll my eyes and Steve smirks, continues. "The most important thing is the start," he says. "You want to ease in slow; you don't want to pop the clutch or spin out. You just gotta trust the engine…"

As I listen to Steve Randle teach me the ropes, it's clear he knows what he's talking about. It's also clear he really, really loves this, the pride in his voice admirable.

"I get my cast off next week," Steve says, his eyes glowing in the dim light. "I can't wait to do this again." He relaxes back into the seat. "Some shit irony that Sodapop tried to help me out and ended up getting himself in the same position."

"He meant well."

"Yeah, I know he did, kid."

I quirk my mouth up. "Ready?"

"Give it a shot," Steve says.

I rev the engine, the RPMs climbing and launch the truck from a dead stop. It only moves slightly before the clutch slips and the tires spin out, gravel kicking up around us. "Again, kid." Steve makes a swirling motion in the air with his finger. "Again."

OoO

I'm standing in the pasta aisle for nearly ten minutes before realizing I'm agonizing over choosing between linguini or spaghetti. Finally, with a groan, I grab the spaghetti, deciding to stick with the tried and true.

I'm cooking dinner for Josie this weekend at her house. A move I never thought I'd make.

I drop the pasta in the cart, wheeling it down the aisle. I pick up the usual items: milk, Hershey's syrup, cereal, and meals for the week. By the time I'm ready to check-out half my paycheck is gone. But it's better than it used to be; before my raise at the construction site the entire thing would be obliterated.

"Darry Curtis?"

Cindy Mathews is waving at me from the produce section. I steer the cart her way. "Hey, Mrs. Mathews…how are you?"

"Doin' fine, Darry…my, I haven't seen you in ages." She looks haggard and thin, clutching her purse close to her and I almost wonder if she's been drinking again. "I've been meaning to call you," she says, catching me off guard since I haven't seen her since my parents died.

"Oh?"

"I heard about…well, Keith told me about Ponyboy…" Her gray eyes dart around the store. "I need to talk to you about that."

I frown. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"I need to talk to you about him."

"Mrs. Mathews, you already said—"

"Hey mama! There you are!" Two-Bit's sister Karen pops her head around the corner. She gives me an apologetic smile, ducks her head close to her Mrs. Mathews' ear. "You can't go running off like that." She looks at me. "Sorry 'bout that Darry."

"No problem," I say. "How you been Karen?"

She shrugs. "Been a lot better, actually." It's a truthful statement, not one out for pity. Two-Bit's sister has always been what Two-Bit calls "hell-on-wheels" but she's a good kid.

"Darry and I were just talking, Karen…" Mrs. Mathews says. She shivers and Karen wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"We better go," Karen says. She tosses me a smile, says, "See ya around Superman," and guides her mother down the next aisle. I watch them go; confused about what Mrs. Mathews wanted to say.

OoO

"She never said what she wanted?"

"No," Darry says, unpacking the groceries. He frowns and opens the fridge. "I honestly don't even know if she knew herself."

I flip a pancake, set it back into the pan. Add two dashes of blue food coloring. "Two-Bit hasn't said anything…you think we should ask him?"

Two-Bit's not one to talk about his home life. He handles it on his own, never bothering anyone with it, which seems unfair considering how much shit he puts up with at our house.

Darry hands me the bacon from the fridge. I unwrap it and drop the slab into another frying pan. "You think it was about mom?" Mrs. Mathews and our mom had been real close; our mom going over there often to check in on her. They were friends – and back then Cindy Mathews didn't have the best reputation, earning our mom soft whispers and unfair talk around town. It's the reason Two-Bit has a soft spot for our mom and probably Ponyboy as well.

"I don't know…" Darry slowly says, thinking hard. "Maybe." Finished unpacking, he sits down at the table. "I'll go see her this week. See what she wanted."

A door opens and shuts and then Two-Bit's in the kitchen. Darry busies himself, his back rigid. I wave the spatula. "Speak of the devil….Come for breakfast for dinner, Two-Bit? I have blue pancakes."

He barely cracks a smile. "Where's the kid?"

"At practice," Darry says, turning around. "Why?"

Two-Bit shifts, his eyes flinty. "I've been hearing some things around town…"

"What kind of things?"

"Oh…things along the line that Hank Greer still wants to pummel your little brother. That while he's even with this one…"

I let out a groan and turn the stove off, the smell of bacon and burnt pancakes filling the air. "Jesus Christ, I thought this was done with." My mistake keeps coming back to haunt me. I've never felt like such a fuck up.

"I think he's still pissed about the broken rib," Two-Bit says.

"What else have you heard?" Darry asks. Jaw tight, the ice in his eyes flashes.

"Just that. I think it's enough, don't you?" Darry nods. Two-Bit lounges against the wall, crossing his arms. "Those pancakes still up for eating?"

"They're all yours," I tell him, no longer hungry. I grab my jacket and the keys to the truck. "I'm gonna go pick him up."

"Good idea," Darry says, barely looking at me.

OoO

Rustling sounds behind me. I don't turn from my economics textbook but know it's Ponyboy because he's trying to stay quiet while I study. The only one to do that in this house. He moves fast, grabbing a banana off the counter and is about to sneak off before I raise my head.

I grab the sleeve of his jacket. "Hey," I say. "I want you talk to you."

Pony sits, long and lanky in chair. There's a cigarette stuck behind his ear. I've seen him carrying around the lighter of our mom's. He keeps it in his pocket, playing with it when he's nervous.

I shut my textbook. "How's it going with Thomas Mercer? You still okay going over there?"

"It's good," he says. "Honest, Darry." His face breaks out into an almost-crooked smile. "It ain't so bad."

I run a hand through my hair, hating that it's a part of his life I'm not involved in. it sounds bad, but it's something I can't control.

"So, uh…what do you two do?"

He gives me a _really?_ look but shrugs. "Nothin much. I help out around the farm…talk I guess…"

"What do you talk about? Mom?"

"Not really..." Uncomfortable, Pony bites his lip. "C'mon, Dar…you ain't gotta worry."

"Speaking of worry, kiddo…"

Pony groans and rubs his face. "Ugh, I knew it. You just want to talk about that jerk."

"Can you blame me? C'mon Pony, he's going around town talking about how he's going to break your legs."

"Yeah, that's real great. As if my life weren't exciting enough," he says dryly.

"I just want you to be careful." I hold up a hand at his protest. "I know you can run and hide but for god's sake keep an eye out. Stay close to the house if you can."

"I will. And I do."

"Good."

He cracks a smile, eyes flickering to my textbook. "Glory, Dar. Don't you have some studying to do instead of worry about me?"

I laugh and the sound is loud.

OoO

"How's it feel? First day workin with two good arms?"

"You know, it feels pretty damn good, Sodapop."

Steve stretches his right arm, making a fist, finally free of the cast. It's paler and thinner than the left one but it's healed cleanly, which is a relief. I'm not sure I could take much more of Steve's bitching.

"I could challenge you to an arm wrestling match and win with that gimp arm of yours," I say, cracking open a Coke.

Sneering, Steve slams the hood of a Cadillac shut. "Not a chance."

"So uh…" I cross the shop, sit down on a stool and spin around. "What's goin on with you and Ponyboy these days?"

Steve scowls. "Ain't nothin goin on."

I try not to smile. While the two of them haven't been out-and-out friendly, they've both been more than civil. It's odd enough that we've all picked up on it. "You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Jesus Sodapop, that kid's a bigger pain in my ass than he ever was. Besides…" Steve moves to the register, ringing up an invoice. "I still gotta get that little shit back."

"Easy on whatever you do," I say, locking the front door and flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED. "I don't think Darry can take much more."

Steve gives a nod, hearing me. He shuts the register. "Say, I'm going out with Evie tonight. She's got a girlfriend…c'mon Sodapop," he says when I start shaking my head. "You can't keep going home and moping. You still got a life you know."

We've been here too many times. Me, trying to weasel out of any relationship that presents itself; Steve, doing the prodding. "It's just a date, man," Steve says. "It ain't a proposal." His face clouds and I know he's thinking of Evie who's been on his ass every chance she can get for a ring.

I laugh, giving in. "Sure, Steve. I'll go."

"You'll go?"

"I'll go."

"Jesus Christ, there may be hope for you yet, Sodapop Curtis." Steve slugs me in the shoulder as he moves to pick up the phone.

OoO

Storm clouds blow in over the horizon. I shield my eyes, taking in the dust spiraling up in vortexes on the deserted stretch of road out on the lookout point. Steve whips his truck around, cranking it with both hands until we spin. I brace against the dash, laughing when we finally stop.

Steve gives me a cocky grin. "You think that's fast, kid? If we had a muscle car we could really fly."

"The Cowboy has a Corvette."

"Really?" Steve lets his truck idle. "You drive it?"

"No. He said I could though."

"Something tells me this isn't what he'd want you usin' it for." His grin gets wider. "You know Pony you're actually getting better at this whole drag racing thing."

I smile softly, surprised at the compliment. Steve and I've been practicing at least once a week, sneaking off after school or after his shift at the DX. While I'm no pro, I'm finding it's a fun release, being able to forget about reality for an hour or so.

Steve gives me a look, his eyes suddenly serious. "So you startin' to like the guy or what?"

"I don't know." I shrug, my face heating up. "He's okay."

"Because if you like him you know that ain't s—" I'm not sure what Steve's about to say – lecture or criticism – because he cuts off, staring at something in his rearview mirror. "Shit," he hisses.

I twist around to see Hank Greer, stepping off of a motorcycle that's pulled up behind Steve's truck. "Oh crap."

"Let me handle this," Steve says, watching Budweiser walk around the tailgate and come up to my rolled-down window.

Budweiser leans down, resting his arms in the window frame. "Ponyboy Curtis," he drawls. "I've been lookin' for ya."

"Why're you here, Greer?" Steve says, sounding bored. "Soda settled this. You're square."

"Sure, we're square," Budweiser says. "With Sodapop." His eyes flicker to me, a thin smile spreading across his lips. "I want to talk to you."

I meet his eyes. "So talk."

The smile disappears. "Outside."

Before either Steve or I can say anything the door I'm resting against is opening and I'm falling out of the seat. I hit the hard earth, dust kicking up in small bursts. Somewhere above Steve's swearing.

"I told you I'd get you…get even…" The boot that slams into my side is painful, knocking the air from my lungs. "…break both your legs…"Coughing, I pull my knees in, trying to roll up so I can stand. My stomach burns and I mutter a sharp moan mixed with a curse. There's one last kick to my side, hitting bone and softness, before the space around me clears.

Then Steve's yelling, "Get in the _fucking truck_, Pony!"

I scramble up, see Steve deliver a nice right to Hank Greer's face, and then hop in the driver's seat. I gun the engine and then Steve's inside the cab, shouting at me to go-go-go, his face filled with adrenaline. I punch the gas, the passenger door flapping open like a wobbly tooth, and Steve whoops as I peel the truck out of the dusty back road.

OoO

"Where've you two been?" I ask as Steve and Ponyboy slink through the front door.

"The prodigal son and the juvenile delinquent have returned," Two-Bit calls from the back bedroom where he and Sodapop getting ready to go out.

"Pony," I snap, dipping to pick up Soda's DX cap from the floor. "I told you, if you're late, you call."

"We got a little sidetracked," Steve says, something in his voice catching my attention. Pony stays close to Steve. He looks pained and at first I think they've had it out. Steve leans back against the wall. "We ran into Hank Greer out at the lookout."

"I've been spitting up blood for the last half hour," Pony snaps, his face stormy. "That asshole—" Turning he opens the front door, spits onto the porch and shuts it.

I straighten up. "Whoa, _what_?"

"You heard me." Pony's face is red; I've never seen him this angry, he's practically shaking. Soda and Two-Bit walk into the living room, stop and stare.

"He's okay," Steve says. "Only managed to get a few shots in, huh kid?" Steve elbows him and Pony's angry face cracks into a rueful smile.

"I'm gonna kill him," Sodapop's saying. "I am going to _fucking_ kill him." He paces the room like a caged animal.

"Soda," Two-Bit says. "Calm down, man. The kid's okay. Look at him. He's still standing."

"I'm fine, Soda," Pony says, raising a hand as if to announce he's in the room.

Furious, I cross the room and make Ponyboy show me his stomach. He's embarrassed and barely raises his shirt. When I get a good look, I swear, thinking of all the very painful things I'd like to do to Hank Greer.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thanks for reading and please review!_

_Hope everyone has a great, long weekend._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	11. Clear Vision on Cloudy Days

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, Cursing, Long chapter_

Clear Vision on Cloudy Days

OoO

I'm filling the horse's water bins when the Cowboy finds me. I turn the hose off as he approaches. "I'm almost done here and then—"

"I heard something from Rita," he says, his face all business. "Now I want to hear it from you, Ponyboy."

I curse inwardly; I shouldn't have told Rita about Hank Greer. I hadn't wanted to in the first place; she caught me wincing when I was wrestling with Goosey and had got it out of me. Saw the bruises. I'm beginning to think Thomas is right…that Rita really is a witch. She always knows what to say or do.

"What do you want to hear? She's right." I try to walk away from him.

"Who hurt you?" His voice is grave. The Cowboy reaches out, gently grazing my arm. Jumpy, I shake him off, taking a step away. He flinches. "Christ, kid, you don't have to be so defensive. I'm only trying to help."

I want to say I don't need his help, to throw it back in his face and hurt him but I don't. I can't. I'm not angry with him anymore. Lately, I'm finding I don't know who to be angry with. I'm just confused and in the middle.

"Sorry. I know you are."

"I thought the money took care of this."

"I thought so too. The guy's still pissed because I broke his rib."

The Cowboy chuckles, an even, mellow sound. "You did that?"

"Yeah. Believe me, I wish I hadn't. I would've taken my licks if it would have got him off my back."

"Something tells me that's not in your nature," he says with a proud smile.

I shrug it off. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Forget about work today." The Cowboy claps a hand on my shoulder. "You want to go see a movie? Take out the 'Vette?"

It sounds fun. I start to say no but find myself agreeing instead. I try to ignore the guilty feeling creeping up and sinking down.

OoO

"Superman, hey…" Karen's gray eyes widen as she opens the door to a slit.

"Hey Karen. I hate to just drop by but is your mom home? I wanted to talk to her about something."

"Yeah…she is…" She pulls the door open; wide enough for me to step through and then it's shut again. "She might be sleeping but I can go check." She scurries throughout the living room, picking up ratty blankets from the couch and draping them across the back of it.

"Don't worry about it. You should see my place."

She raises a classic Two-Bit brow. "Shit, my brother tells me it's spotless. You ain't gotta lie, Darry. I'll be right back." With that, she bounds up the stairs.

I stay standing, arms crossed. The Mathews's house is dim, the shades drawn, a few cobwebs dangling from the light fixtures. There's a dusty smell to the air. A door closes somewhere in the house and then Two-Bit's walking out of a back bedroom. He's yawning.

"Darry, what're you doing here?" He scratches his stomach. "Do I owe you money or some—" His eyes shoot open. "Shit. Sorry. Phrasing."

"It's okay, Two-Bit. I'm actually here to see your mom."

"Why? You two have a hot date?" But the joke falls flat, Two-Bit looking uncomfortable instead.

"I saw her at the grocery store last week and she was saying some stuff about Ponyboy. I wanted to see if there was anything to it."

"Aw, Dar….Half the time she doesn't know what she's saying."

"Is she drinking again?"

"No…she just…let's just say she ain't all right upstairs." He taps his temple. "It's happening a lot, more and more…"

"Shit, Two-Bit…" I say, feeling like an ass. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Hell, Darry, you ain't gotta worry about it. You didn't know." Two-Bit frowns. "So's the kid okay? What'd she sa—"

"She won't come down," Karen says, sneaking up on both of us. She looks at her brother and then me. "She's tired. Says she'll call you, Darry."

OoO

"Special delivery," Two-Bit drawls as he walks into the DX, Ponyboy tagging along beside him. My brother's scowling.

"Aw, c'mon, Pone," I give his arm a light punch. "I know you ain't too happy about this but it's the best way we can keep tabs on you."

"I ain't a dog, Sodapop."

I take in his gloomy face. "We just want to make sure you get home okay, is all."

"Look," Steve snaps, shuffling out of the back room, a wrench in his hand. "Would you rather have a babysitter or broken legs, kid?" When Pony doesn't respond, Steve says, "So stop your bitching."

I start digging the keys to the truck out of my pocket when Steve sticks a hand out. "I'll take him."

"You'll take him?"

"Yeah. I'm 'bout done with my shift anyways." I almost miss it, it's so slight, but his eyes flit to my brother. Pony shoulders his bag, stepping around Steve. He inches to the door.

Steve trades me the wrench for the keys. He gives Ponyboy a soft shove. "Let's go, you little shit." Pony rolls his eyes and then they're out the door.

"Whooooo wheeeee…" Two-Bit whistles. "Was that just a _Twilight Zone_ episode? My mind is swimming right now. Boggled. Pinch me, Sodapop because I think I'm dreaming."

I scratch my head. "Man, I have no idea what the hell that just was."

OoO

"…you even listening to me, Darry?"

"What's that?" I blink, my thoughts falling away.

Josie asks,"Daydreaming again?"

"Daydreaming? No, that's Ponyboy's job." I run a hand over my jaw, stubble thick beneath my fingers. "No…just thinking."

"Worrying?"

"Something like that." Between Budweiser and Mrs. Mathews, I can't keep track of anything else. I worry about Ponyboy, keeping my brother away from Hank Greer; and I worry about what Mrs. Mathews wants to say but won't.

"You should be studying. We have finals in a week." Josie slides her notebook my way. As she points out the key things to study I can't believe my first semester is over and done with. Josie must see the look on my face because she stops talking and stares.

"You're still thinking," she scolds.

"Sorry."

Her lips purse. The waitress brings us our drinks and she plays with her straw before taking a sip. "You ever hear back from Two-Bit's mom?" Josie knows the whole story, she's someone I can talk to who won't argue with me or run either. It's odd to have someone who just listens.

"No," I say, frustrated. I've been calling the house and Karen takes message after message but I just can't get a word out of her. "She won't call me back."

"Maybe she knows something." Josie rests her elbows on the tabletop, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Something big about that baby brother of yours."

I recline back in the booth. "God damn, I hope so. I really hope so."

OoO

"Get in."

"What?" I gawk at the Cowboy. He's in the red Corvette, sunglasses and hat on, windows down, waiting for me in the parking lot after track practice. "What—what're you doing here?"

"Came to give you a ride."

I toss my cigarette in the gravel. "It ain't Saturday."

The Cowboy raises a brow, moving his head slightly to the right. "You see that bike parked over there?" I glance over. "It's been waiting for you ever since I got here."

"Shit," I swear, recognizing Hank Greer's Harley. I scan the field but don't spot him.

"So what're you doin? Get in the goddamn car, son."

OoO

I don't talk to him until we're nearly at the house. Crossing my arms, I glance at the Cowboy's stern profile. "So why're you here?"

"Came to see you practice." He checks out his review mirror. "Saw this guy, put two and two together, and thought I'd stick around to give you a lift home."

"Swell," I mutter, as the slow, quiet roar of a motorcycle sounds behind us. Thomas Mercer turns onto our street. Spying Darry's truck in the driveway, I unbuckle fast, planning how I can get in the house without running into Hank or having Darry see Thomas.

Although, the way today is going, I figure now's about the perfect time for everything to spontaneously combust.

"Is that him? Is that the guy?"

The Corvette pulls up alongside the curb, Thomas cutting the engine. The roar of the motorcycle dies, Hank Greer stopping behind the car.

I twist in my seat, seeing Hank's ugly face through the back window. "Yeah."

"You sure that's the guy?"

"That's him. Darry's practically got me on lockdown…He's been hanging around all week, giving us—whoa, _wait_, what're you doing?"

Reaching around the back of his seat, Thomas Mercer unveils a single barrel shotgun. My eyes widen in disbelief. The Cowboy kicks his door open and in one fluid motion steps out smooth as can be.

"Just gonna have a talk."

"No…" Worried about neighbors and about a possible gunfight in the middle of our street, I crawl across the seat, following him, exiting from his driver's side. "No, no, listen Thomas…don't—"

"I'll take care of it, Ponyboy."

I try to snag the sleeve of his arm but miss. He's already walking. "God damn it…"

Stepping off his bike, Budweiser moves toward the bumper of the Corvette. Not acknowledging the gun he says, "I want to talk to the kid," and then there's Thomas's dry reply of "You do, do you?"

I stand on the curb, near the hood of the car, watching. My heart beats fast.

They talk, too low for me to make out. The Cowboy's calm, the shotgun loose in his hands, dangling like a cane. Greer's lounging back against his bike, a dangerous smile on his face. All looks civilized until Greer says something loud, straightens up and reaches for his waist.

That's when the Cowboy brings the shotgun up, high, high in the air, the muzzle facing the sky. Then just as swift he brings the butt of it down on Budweiser's kneecap. A sharp crack fills the air like a twig breaking. Hank Greer howls.

I cover my mouth, whisper, "_Oh shit_…"

Darry steps out onto the porch, roars, "What the hell is this?"

The Cowboy raises the shotgun, moves his face closer to Hank Greer. He says, "You touch him again, you go near him…you'll have to answer to me…"

A firm hand grabs me by the bicep, lifts me onto the grass. "Ponyboy, get inside," Darry orders, his eyes dangerous. He shoves me. "_Now_."

"But, Darry—"

"Don't argue with me. _Now, Ponyboy_."

Ripping my eyes away from the scene I'd rather watch, I slowly move for the porch as Darry barrels toward Hank Greer and the Cowboy.

OoO

My oldest brother can be really loud when he needs to be. I run back outside as soon as the motorcycle starts up and speeds away. How Hank Greer's steering I'll never know. "What were you thinking?" Darry's shouting at Thomas Mercer. They've moved onto the sidewalk now, no longer in the middle of the road. "What in the hell were you _doing_?"

"Darry…"

"You should be inside."

"If the cops come, let them come," Thomas says. "You didn't do a thing. I did. He'll leave Pony alone now." He gives me a grin. "A busted kneecap will do that."

"It's _reckless_!" Darry yells and I don't think I've ever seen him this mad. "You threatened Hank with a _gun_, Thomas! In the middle of our street – If the cops come – if he presses charges, the state'll be down here so fast…I swear to god Thomas if I lose hi—"

"I did what I had to do," Thomas retorts, his face darkening. "Anyone who lays a hand on my kid has got another thing coming. You're lucky he wasn't looking down the goddamn barrel when you walked out of the house."

I wince, knowing Darry's going to take offense at many things in that one sentence. And worried that my brother will end up slugging the Cowboy and then the cops will really be on our case, I take a step forward, gripping his arm, trying to remind him I'm here.

Shoving me back, keeping me at a distance, there's a long beat as Darry stares at the Cowboy, his jaw clenched and taught. Then, face red, Darry punches a finger in Thomas Mercer's chest so hard that the Cowboy sways. "Get the fuck out of there." Pushing past me, Darry storms up the porch.

With a tip of his hat, green eyes winking, the Cowboy strides towards his Corvette, not sorry in the slightest. He gives me a wave. "See you Saturday, kiddo." The corvette speeds off down the street. A slow smile spreads across my face.

OoO

"I should have let the cops come," Darry rants. "Get that son-of-a-bitch arrested. That'd take care of him pretty damn quick…" I listen to Darry complain about what's happened this afternoon. "I should've kicked his ass…"

"So why didn't you?"

"You know why." He glances back over his shoulder. Ponyboy's on the front porch smoking. When he looks back at me, Darry holds his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "I was this close, Sodapop. This close."

OoO

It's been ten days since Thomas Mercer pulled a gun on Hank Greer in the middle our front yard and I'm beginning to breathe easy. No cops, no social services, no neighbors, have shown up and for that I consider Thomas Mercer a very, very lucky man.

He did me a favor. He took care of something Soda and I could never do without bringing the State down on our heads. But then again I'm not a fan of having Thomas Mercer take care of our family's problems. Especially when I can't.

I finish my first semester. Josie brings a bottle of champagne and we drink it in her car after our last class. We raise the white plastic cups and toast.

OoO

The gasp that goes up in the stands is loud as Ponyboy nearly topples over during the afternoon race. His last one of the year. Darry and I immediately stand, shielding our eyes from the sun, craning to see over the commotion. Pony rights himself and gets a burst of speed, propelling past the rest of the runners.

I give Darry a look. "What the hell?"

Sitting back down on the bleacher, Darry shakes his head, says, "I have no idea," and then proceeds to watch the rest of Pony's last track meet of the year with eagle-eyed intensity.

OoO

"What happened back there, kiddo?" Darry's asking as Pony slurps down a Coke. Pony takes his time finishing and when he sets it down he looks less than thrilled. He waves at track buddy entering McDonald's and then scowls at us, embarrassed.

"My shoelaces came untied. No big deal. I still won," he says, pushing his tray away.

"Yeah, I know you did," Darry says. "And that's—"

"Great," I finish for him. "Really, kiddo. We're proud of you." Reaching over, I steal a fry.

Pony smiles. Before Darry can say anything else, Pony's smile grows wider. "Should we give it to him, Soda?"

I grin too. "Sure."

"Give me what?" Darry asks, a suspicious frown on his face.

I laugh aloud. "Don't worry, Dar, it's nothing illegal. Or living."

Pony pulls a white, slightly rumpled envelope from his backpack and hands it to Darry. As Darry opens it, I watch his face. It goes from doubtful, to confused and then Darry softly smiles. He shakes his head. "You guys…"

I slap his back. "Congrats on finishing your first semester, Superman."

"You deserve it, Darry," Pony says, practically beaming.

"This is too much," Darry protests.

"We've been saving for a long time, so don't worry about it." I elbow him. "Plus, now you got someone to go with."

"Thanks," Darry says, his voice thick. It's a rare time when Superman's speechless. All Pony and I can do is just grin at each other.

OoO

"Shit!"

I glance up from my book in time to see Thomas Mercer barrel through the front door. There's a rag wrapped around his right hand and it's quickly turning red. I hop off the stool, leaving my studying behind.

"Glory, what happened?"

He's already at the sink turning on the faucet. "Aw, hell, cut my palm open on a piece of scrap metal in the shop…god damn son of a—" He cuts off, his green eyes winking.

"I've heard worse."

"I bet you have."

The Cowboy turns his palm over where a long bloody cut bisects. Reaching up and to the left with his good hand, he opens a cupboard and brings out a bottle of vodka. About the time I'm thinking it's a little too early for a drink, he's pulling off the cap with his teeth and sloshing the clear liquid across his palm.

I wince as he sucks in a breath. I suck one in too. He makes a fist with his palm, letting water fill it. "Here." I grab a dish towel and hand it to him.

Shutting off the faucet, he winds the towel across his palm and makes a fist. "Thanks, son."

I watch his face. I don't know how I feel about the Cowboy anymore. I don't want to feel gratitude – for helping out Sodapop, for taking care of Hank Greer, for not pushing me – but I do. One thing I'm starting to get – Thomas Mercer does what he wants; an admirable, yet brash, quality.

Shyly, I ask, "Are you okay?"

"A-okay." He braces himself against the counter. Whistles loud and then Goosey comes running. He gives me a grin. "What do you say we take care of this and then have some lunch?"

"Sure," I tell him, my stomach doing a flip-flop.

OoO

It's the first time I've been upstairs in the house. There's a long hallway, a bathroom, a smaller bedroom and then a larger one at the end of the hall. We go into the larger one and I see it's the Cowboy's. Dusty boots sit on the floor, a mangy dog bed for Goosey next to his night stand.

While he's bandaging up that's when I notice something familiar. At first I can't place it. It's like something out of a dream, foreign yet familiar.

I open the sliding back door and step out onto the balcony. The view takes my breath away. It overlooks the backyard and from the second floor you can see the pond, the barn and the horses, the Cowboy's Corvette. The best part is the rolling hills, sloping and dipping like a coiling snake. The sun shines bright, fluffy clouds floating above the horizon. I blink. There's movement behind me. Goosey bounds over to my side.

"She was here," I say to the Cowboy, remembering the photo I found of my mom. I don't turn around, instead looking out over the fields. "She stood here and had her hand up…"

"How'd you know that?"

I face him. "I found a photo of hers."

He smiles, slightly embarrassed. "So she kept that after all, did she?" Thomas Mercer shakes his head. "Lara hated that photo."

"Why?"

"Hell if I know…I thought Lara was beautiful. Especially then." There's a catch in his voice. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't be—"

"No. It's okay." As confused as I am with my mom, Two-Bit's words have stuck with me. "She made a mistake…I don't get it…I don't get why…but—but that's no excuse for…well…" I run a hand through my hair, say softly, "I don't hate her for it. I could never do that."

"I'm glad to hear that, kid. Real glad." A wind blows across the balcony, rattling the wind chimes. The Cowboy clears his throat, says, "You want to see some of her things?"

OoO

He tells me about most of it. How they met at the stables. How he fell for her. It lasted a short time – six months – but it was enough. Shows me the photos and the letters. All these years, he's kept them under his bed in a worn trunk. It's clear he still loves her, even after all this time. I swallow the gigantic lump in my throat and pick up a photo – the two of them at a party with friends.

We're sitting on the floor in the middle of his bedroom, photos and memories scattered everywhere. Reaching over, I pat Goosey and after a second hesitation, I finally ask a question I've been dreading the answer to.

"Why do you think she did it?"

Thomas Mercer sighs. He runs a thumb down his grizzled jaw. "I can't tell you why, Ponyboy," he says. "She never really explained it to me either. Lara was…well your mama was a wild spirit. I think life just became too much and good or bad, I was there. I loved her for it and never asked questions…"

I always knew her as just my mother but I can picture what the Cowboy means. She was always laughing like Sodapop and wouldn't hesitate if there was a joke to be played. Compared to my dad she was easy-going but when it came down to it she wouldn't hesitate grounding Darry or lecturing Steve on manners.

She'd stay up later, later than my dad, and play the radio. Before they met, she roamed. She didn't tell me much but I knew she had been to Texas and Arkansas. She got married and settled down and I didn't give the rest much thought. She was just my mom. That's all she was.

I eye the photo. "Until me."

"Until you. Ponyboy, I left town six months after you were born. Hell, I wish I hadn't but I did. It was the right thing to do by your mama."

"Do you think my dad knew?"

"You know, I don't think he did, Ponyboy. But I can't say for sure." He stares at the wall then meets my gaze. "She was never mine. She belonged to your daddy. We both knew that."

I bow my head, blinking fast. "Can I keep this?" I show him the photo.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Please read and review and I hope you all are still enjoying the story._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	12. Just a Guy

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, Cursing._

Just a Guy

OoO

Staring at photos has taken up the majority of my time.

Squinting, I evaluate one of my mom and dad, and one of my mom and Thomas. Dad's the spitting image of Darry. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, blue eyes, square jaw. I go over every aspect, searching for something…

I glance up from my seat on the porch as a car rumbles. Steve and Two-Bit are climbing out of Two-Bit's busted truck. Darry and Soda are both at work, giving me the house to myself. The cigarette bobs in my mouth. I stick the photos under my leg as they approach but Steve sees.

"What's that?" Steve raises his dark eyebrows. When I don't answer he snaps his fingers. "Give it up, whatever you're hiding."

I hand over the photos. At Steve's glance of surprise I ask, "So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About the Cowboy. Do I look like him or what?"

"Oh, Ponyboy…" Two-Bit begins, his voice hurt. "This ain't cool, kid."

"I just want an honest opinion. I can't tell anymore."

Steve chews his lip. "Yeah, you know what, Pony? It kind of does. Spitting image actually." He smirks a little bit and then hands the photos back to me. I take them, feeling lost.

"You're an asshole," Two-Bit spits. He disappears inside, the screen door clattering.

"It's just the eyes," Steve says, sounding gentler. "That's all it is."

Two-Bit returns with a picture frame in his hand. It's the photo of our mom and dad we keep on the mantle. They're on the couch, holding hands; it's a close-up of their faces. I still remember the day – New Year's Eve, a year before they died.

Sitting beside me on the bench, Two-Bit taps the glass. "You have your mom's eyes," Two-Bit says. "You see that? Not his. It's just a coincidence, kid. It's the green. Everyone can say they look like someone else. That ain't nothin special…"

The porch creaks as Steve shifts, leaning against the side of the house to watch. He doesn't say anything.

Two-Bit continues. "You got your dad's shit-eating grin. It's crooked, like his here. You're quiet like he was too." He touches the glass again, then hands me the frame. "Do you see it, kid?"

Carefully, I stare.

"Stop worrying about it, Ponyboy. Stop trying to figure it out because it doesn't matter. You're a Curtis. That's it."

OoO

The gift from Sodapop and Ponyboy was a week's stay at a cabin in Fresh Springs, Arkansas. My dad used to take me there on long weekend trips to go fishing. It's been a dream of mine to go back; to just relax and fish. Apparently, my brothers had been saving up ever since I enrolled at school.

"Next week?"

"I got the time off. We can go."

Giggling, Josie claps her hands together. She eyes the map I have spread out on the kitchen table. "How long's the drive?"

"About four hours to Little Rock and then another hour to the cabin." I show her the route, tracing I-40 with my finger.

OoO

"You know…" Thomas begins, "now that you're out of school you ain't just gotta come over here on Saturdays."

"Well, when do you want me to come over?" I ask, suddenly nervous. Margarita bustles around the kitchen, sets a glass of chocolate milk in front of me. I rub my eyes, tired, unable to sleep lately.

"I know I work during the week, Ponyboy, but I was wondering if you wanted a job for the summer. Full time. Make some extra cash."

I consider it. Slowly spin around on the stool. Goosey nudges my sneaker with her nose and I lean down, brushing fingertips against her fur. Thomas finishes his crossword puzzle, folding up the paper. He gives me an easy smile.

"What do you say, kid?"

"I guess so," I tell him. "I ain't got nothin' better to do anyway."

The Cowboy laughs, loose and long.

OoO

No answer and I've been knocking for five minutes. I step back from the porch and wait. Eye the red Corvette that's sitting in the front yard. Realizing no one's coming, I press the door open, step inside. "Hello?" I call out. "Pony?"

Faint voices float out of a back room. I walk down the hall, listening.

"No no, _mijo_, _silencio_ the H…"

"_Hola_. Like that?"

"_Si, si_…now we try _buenos noches_. Good night. You try, _mijo_."

"I'm never gonna learn this Rita. It's like rocket science…"

I smile as I round the corner, seeing Ponyboy on the couch next to a small, dark woman. "If anyone can do rocket science, it's my kid brother."

"Hey Sodapop."

"You ready to go?" I ask, eager to get the hell out of Thomas Mercer's house.

Ponyboy stands. "Rita, this is Sodapop."

"_Hola_, Sodapop." The older woman gives a nod. "Two _hermanos_ with strange names." Rita cackles. "Would you like Spanish lesson?"

"Can't right now." I flash a smile. "Gotta be getting on back." Ponyboy tells Rita goodbye and she says something in Spanish. I usher my brother out of the house. "Where's the Cowboy?"

"He had to go visit the next farm. He gets called away a lot."

"You like coming here?"

"It's better than I thought."

His green eyes focus on the farmhouse as we pull out of the drive, the chocolate lab bounding off the deck. Pony seems like he wants to say more but then settles for turning on the radio instead.

OoO

"Hey, Dar…"

I pull my sunglasses down, the half-eaten sandwich in my hand forgotten. "Hey, Two-Bit, what's goin' on? Everything okay?" It's not every day Two-Bit shows up at my work.

Two-Bit scuffs the tip of his tennis shoe in the dirt. He sits across from me at the picnic table. "I'm not sure." He fans his hands out on top of the table. "Does he know—I mean…have you told him…?"

"Told him what? Who're you talking about, Two-Bit?" He's never looked so serious. And when Two-Bit's serious you pay attention.

"Look…I'm not good at this Darry…but…have you talked to the kid about…well…hell, how he's dealin' with all this?" He smears his hair back. "I mean…I think he's lookin for things that ain't there. You know, Pony…"

I sigh. I sure do. "He just wants to find something…he's confused. I'll talk to him." I cap my thermos. "Speaking of Pony…I've been trying to call your mom, Two-Bit. Where's she been?"

"She's been home." He flinches. "I don't know what she wants to tell you, Dar…she barely talks to me as it is…but I doubt it's important."

"Maybe not," I say. "But I'm still curious." Something in Cindy Mathews's tone caught my attention. It may not be anything and I might be putting too much stock in it but I can't take the chance.

"Yeah, well," Two-Bit says with a shrug, "if she says anything remotely interesting you be sure to let me know."

"Keith," I say as he stands up. He bristles at the use of his first name, pain evident in his flinty eyes. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." He chuckles without humor. "I think I'm just confused these days too."

OoO

It's hot for the beginning of June. I wipe my brow as I exit the house, glancing up at the sky. Big, swollen clouds are blowing in. "It's gonna storm," The Cowboy says, pointing to the weathervane on the roof. It spins round and round. He's sitting in the porch swing, reading a thick book – something boring about farming practices.

Another Saturday, another day at the Cowboy's. It's habit now, none of us really thinking or expecting any different. Darry or Soda drop me off and pick me up. I either end up in the stables with the Cowboy or having Rita fuss over me.

"Want some lemonade or something?" Thomas Mercer asks. "I know Rita made a fresh batch…"

I smile to myself. I'll never get over this whole different world I've been thrown into. One where I could ride in a Corvette and have lunch made for me. I don't want it. I don't need it. It's not my scene – too Socy. It's just interesting.

Leaning against the railing, I light a smoke, facing the Cowboy. "You don't have to do that you know…"

"Do what?"

"I don't know…ask Rita for things…I can get 'em myself."

"I know you can. I get it…You ain't impressed."

"Oh, I—"

"I'm not trying to impress you, kid. It's just my life. Been like this for a long time."

"Sorry," I mumble, feeling like an idiot. Finished my with my first, I light another cigarette.

"No apologies," he says, chuckling. "That's the exact same thing your mama said to me too. 'Stop showing off, Thomas'." Setting his book aside, Thomas rubs his palms on his jeans. "Now…what did your big brothers say about the summer? Odd jobs here and there?"

"I don't think it's such a hot idea…"

Thomas frowns. "They said that?"

"No." I hesitate, say, "I haven't asked them yet. I get the feeling they wouldn't like it too much."

The Cowboy slowly nods. Rita comes out, tray of drinks in her hand. She sets it on the porch table, says something in Spanish to Thomas and then retreats. A strong breeze blows in, rolling across the hills, and the ash falls from the tip of my smoke.

OoO

"_Shit_," I hiss, seeing the time. "Can you go?"

Steve, in the process of clocking out, looks up. "Can I go what?"

"Go get, Pony." I gesture at the disemboweled car in front of me. "I ain't near finished. Lloyd'll shit himself if I leave it like this."

"Just let him stay there, man. I'm sure a few extra hours—okay, okay…" Steve holds up his hand at the expression I'm giving him. "I'll go get him. Christ, Sodapop…"

He leaves muttering. I turn my attention to the car in front of me, looking up and around as thunder booms outside, shaking the sides of the DX.

OoO

"Friend of yours?" The Cowboy removes his hat.

We're walking back from the stables when I see Steve loping his way across the yard. Although we've been getting along lately, going out to practice racing, I can see he ain't too hot on picking me up now. Probably because I'm at Thomas's. Steve's scowling, his long stride fast. His truck is parked in the driveway. Immediately, Goosey bounds his way, slurping and slobbering, and Steve looks ready to maim.

"Where've you been?" he snaps when we reach each other. We pause near the pond and the enormous oak tree. Steve barely acknowledges Thomas.

"Where's Soda?"

"He's still at work. Asked me to come and get you." His dark eyes flicker to the Cowboy and then back my way. "You ready?"

I follow him back to the house, The Cowboy keeping quiet, when Steve stops in his tracks and whistles. "She's a beauty." He's staring at the Corvette. The two of them walk closer to the car, Steve gravitating as if he's getting pulled by a magnet. "What…is she a '58 or '59…?" Steve's voice is cool and removed, but I can tell he's impressed.

"Nailed it. '58."

They start talking about the engine, about the top speed, about drag racing, and just when I'm getting ready to roll my eyes, the Cowboy is handing Steve the keys.

Slightly shocked, and looking only slightly guilty, Steve asks me, "What do you think? You want to practice?"

"With this?"

"No, with that John Deere over there," Steve says, rolling his eyes. "Of course with this."

Thomas laughs. "Go ahead. You ain't gonna wreck it. We're out here in the boonies…nothing to hit but cows."

"What do you say, Pony?" Steve dangles the keys. "You can show me the moves you don't have."

I point at Steve, say to Thomas, "You do know he already wrecked a car?"

The Cowboy laughs again. "I do…I was there remember?"

Steve cracks the driver's side door. "Get in, smart ass."

OoO

"Why're you so late?"

Eyes brushing around the house, Pony quietly shuts the front door, his hair windblown, raindrops stuck to his clothes. "Is Darry mad?"

"Darry ain't here. He's at Josie's." At Ponyboy's relieved sigh, I say, "Where've you been, kiddo?" Headlights fill the windows as I hear Steve's truck back out of the driveway. There's a quick honk, and then the street quiets again.

"You knew where I was," he says, sounding unsure. "I don't know what the big deal is."

I follow him into the kitchen. He gets a glass of water, chugging it in a long gulp. "You shouldn't be spending so much time over there, kiddo. He ain't a good influence."

"It's not hurting anything. And if gets him off our back, so what?"

"I don't like him. I don't like you over there when you ain't got to be."

"He ain't that bad, Soda." Pony bites his lip, leans back against the counter and says in a low voice, "Listen, I thought…I thought I might work there over the summer….If it's okay with you and Darry…"

"Why in the hell would you want to do that?"

"I don't know. It'd give me something to do… plus I can't bum around town like Two-Bit."

"I don't get why you'd want to spend more time over there than you need to."

He swallows. Bites his lip. "You know…I kind of—I kind of like him, Sodapop."

"Jesus, Pony, are you kidding me? You aren't startin to think of him—"

He draws back, hurt. "Glory, Sodapop. I'd never do that. He'll never be my dad. I could never think that."

"Pony, I don't know what you're thinking anymore. I hate that son-of-a-bitch…"

I run a hand down my jaw, stare down at the floor. When I glance back up, Ponyboy's watching me with this strange expression. His face crumples, like he might cry. I open my mouth to apologize but he's faster.

"So what? Do you hate me too?"

"Kiddo…I didn't—"

Pony's face hardens. "Give him a break. Everyone makes mistakes, Sodapop."

He walks out of the room. Shit. I've never felt as lousy as I do tonight.

OoO

The floor creaks, the fridge opens and there are soft footsteps across the tile. Tearing my eyes away from the TV, I see Ponyboy try to slip by me.

"Hey kiddo. C'mere for a minute."

He shuffles in. "Hey, Dar, I didn't know you were up."

"I want to talk to you about Thomas Mercer."

He sits across from me on the couch, pulling his legs underneath. His voice is soft. "Okay."

"Soda says you want to work there during the summer?"

"I know he's upset …but he's just some guy, Dar. He's not dad. I know that."

I think about this, not sure how I feel. I've tried to be calm, be understanding, but this bothers me. That someone else I don't know is having such an impact on my brother. "I know you do, kiddo…but…do you really think it's a good idea?"

"What else am I gonna do this summer? Hang out with Curly Shepard?" He wiggles his eyebrows and I chuckle. Agreeing to let Ponyboy work for Thomas Mercer this summer seems like a nightmare, on the other hand it could be a blessing in disguise. Soda and I both have to work full-time. Maybe it's the best way we can keep tabs on him…

Still I find myself saying, "You should just relax this summer, not get messed up with this guy…"

Giving me a doubtful look, Pony says, "Since when do you want me to just relax?" He sighs. "I like him, Dar. I shouldn't but I do."

"_I _can't like him, Pony. Not when he's done what he's done, claiming that—"

"So what do you think about me? That dad would be disappointed in me?"

"That's not what I'm saying—"

"I thought it would help," Ponyboy says, sounding frustrated. "I only went over there to get him off our case so things wouldn't get worse…but they are worse. I can't make you – I can't make Soda happy. I can't make anyone happy."

"Pony…"

"Forget it," he says, green eyes flashing. "Just forget it."

OoO

"Damn it…"

"Darry?" Soda's lingering in the doorway of my bedroom. He raises an eyebrow, gestures at the mess. Two suitcases strewn across my bed, a dozen socks scattered everywhere. "Need some help?"

"I don't know what to pack for this trip…" I run a hand through my hair. "Hell, I shouldn't even go anymore, with all this goin' on…"

Pony's upset with both of us. While we may not have said the wrong thing, the way we said it hurt him. After a lot of back and forth, I finally agreed to let him work at the Cowboy's place twice a week. A goddamn custody arrangement I don't like.

"We'll be fine." Soda sits on the edge of my bed. He gives me a wolfish grin. "Go and have fun with Josie. A lot of fun."

I chuckle. Give Soda the name of the closest gas station to where we're staying. He can get in touch with me there. The cabin has no electricity so Josie and I'll be roughing it for a week. Rushing around the room, I finish packing. As an after-thought I throw a tie into the suitcase.

"A tie, Dar?" Soda asks."What, you James Bond now?"

Grabbing the suitcase, I sock his arm. "Hold down the fort, Sodapop. Take care of him."

OoO

Too many things. The guilt is unbearable.

Kneeling on the soft, damp earth, I touch the smooth headstone that reads DARREL CURTIS. "I wish you were here, dad. I'm doing everything wrong."

It had been a mistake to admit the truth to my brothers. No one's happy with me. I'm upset Darry and Soda would even think I'd consider Thomas Mercer my father. I'd never see him as that; he's just a guy with a link to my mom's past. They're all I've got and admitting it kills me just as much as it hurts them.

"I hope you don't hate me too. I'm trying to do the right thing; I just have no idea what the hell that is."

I sit there, for how long I don't know. A bird caws in the distance, the rumble of the truck across the road. It starts to rain. Big heavy drops that land on my face and hair. I look up into the dark clouds, warmth spreading behind my eyes.

"I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Please read and review. They are much loved._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	13. Big Leagues

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns. Cursing._

Big Leagues

OoO

The door sharply slams. He walks into the room, soaked with rain, the rims of his eyes red. "Darry leave?"

"Yeah, he wanted to say goodbye to you, kiddo."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure he'll call." Looking miserable, Ponyboy drops into the recliner and begins to rock. He sneezes. Once. Twice.

I don't know how Darry does it. Pony and I've barely said five words to each other since our argument about Thomas Mercer. I don't know what to say to make it right.

"Where've you been?"

"I went to the cemetery. Went to see dad."

An invisible wire slices my guy in half. "Pony…"

"Don't, Soda," he says. "Don't. I can't do this right now."

"Okay," I say, so we don't.

OoO

"'lo?"

"Darry?" A breathless, whispery voice, sounding slightly familiar. I cushion the phone tighter against my ear to hear.

"No, sorry, he's not here right now….He'll be back next Monday…" Soft breathing. I frown, scouring the kitchen for a notepad. "Can I take a message or something?"

"No, no…" the woman says. "I'll try later. I'm sorry I missed him." There's a click as she hangs up, the dial tone buzzing in my ear.

OoO

Josie dumps the four fishing poles on the ground of the cabin's floor. They land like scattered toothpicks. "We made it," she drawls. "One week of sweet freedom." I pull her close, kiss her temple. She wriggles out of my grasp, laughing. "I gotta get the food from the car, Darry. Now be a man and make us a fire."

When she's gone, I take in the small cabin. It's maybe 200 square feet, with a fireplace, a bed, and a small sink and a hotplate. My dad used to bring me here in the winter and we'd ice fish on the lake behind the cabin.

I move the cooler into a corner, straighten up and contemplate that week of freedom Josie was talking about.

OoO

"Thomas? Rita? You here?"

No answer in the farmhouse. I scour downstairs, finding Goosey lounging on the couch. She barks and bounds upstairs. Following her, I climb the rickety steps; spot the Cowboy's bedroom, Goosey prowling in the doorway. A furious breeze wafts through, coming from the balcony, its doors thrown wide-open.

Stepping out onto the patio, the breeze is even fiercer. Dark storm clouds roll in the distance, rain brewing up. The weather's been off in Tulsa, unusually hotter than normal. I close the door, ready to get out of there when I see a leather-bound book on the dresser.

Knowing I'm being nosy but unable to help it, I open the book up. It's an album. Inside are old photos…early ones of a young Thomas and a younger Margarita. They then turn into Thomas and my mom. Margarita's in some of them...she and Lara are in the Corvette, waving at the camera…they're at what looks like a dinner party, sipping wine…in one Rita has her hand on my mom's flat stomach, Lara's frowning….then it's my mom and a brunette woman, sitting on a couch and laughing…

I flip through and towards the end of the album, there's the same brunette woman kissing Thomas on the cheek. She's in white and they're on a beach somewhere, palm trees lining the sand. I pull that photo out of the sleeve and flip it over. In neat cursive: _Helen + Tommy, Wedding Day, Coconut Grove. _My face feels hot. I put the photo away and head back downstairs when I hear Margarita calling for me.

OoO

I've left Josie back at the cabin, claiming I needed to go into town for more food and supplies. She had merely cracked a smiled and a knowing brow, but said nothing else. The gas station cashier is reading a magazine. Above his head a TV is playing, the weather man showing clear skies above Arkansas. I drop change in the coin slot and dial. Pony answers after three rings. The one I really want to talk to.

"Hey, kiddo, how's it going?"

"It's fine. How 'bout you?"

"Goin' good here, aimin' to do some fishing tomorrow." The weather's switching over to Oklahoma. The meteorologist points at dark gray blobs on the screen. "How're you and Soda?"

"Okay," he says and I inwardly groan. Prying more than two-syllables out of him is going to be work. "You two need anything?"

"No, we're fine, Dar. _I told you_. You should go have fun. Forget about us."

"Mighty tempting, but I just can't do it, Ponyboy."

"Yeah well," he says. "_Try_. For a few days at least. We didn't spend our hard earned money for nothin'." Then he says, "Someone called for you yesterday."

"Who?"

"Don't know. A woman. Sounded funny."

I think about it, put two and two together. Mrs. Mathews.

"Dar?" Pony asks when I cuss under my breath.

"It's okay. I'll take care of it when I get back."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Ponyboy."

OoO

"Now, _mijo_, why do you want to know a thing such as that?"

"Just curious, I guess." I play dumb. "Wondered if he married anyone after he met my mom, is all." The Helen from the photo, the Cowboy's wife, has been on my mind. I'm not sure why, just that the ache in my gut is telling me to play hide-and-seek.

Rita sniffs, offended. I bite my lip; push my sandwich around on my plate. "She wasn't anything like your mama," Rita finally says when I take a bite of the sandwich. She whooshes around the kitchen; dropping kibble into a bowl for Goosey and handing me a glass of chocolate milk.

"That Helen Hayley was a _puta_, plain and simple. I still remember that name because it's so ugly. _Mijo_, she was a mistake," Rita says. She smiles beatifically, coming over to squeeze my face between her rough hands. "He stills pines for your mama. For Lara."

I swallow a mouthful of bread and peanut butter. Try not to seem too interested. "So he did get married?"

"_No mas_, no more," Rita spits, sounding irritated. "I don't want to speak of this." She winds around the counter and starts scrubbing it with a rag. She hums an Elvis tune.

Watching her squirm, I log the name away. _Helen Hayley_. My summer just got a lot busier.

OoO

It's late and it's wet and Darry's truck is slipping all over the road like a slick son-of-a-bitch.

"So what'd you think of Betsy?"

"What'd you think I think of her?"

"I think you wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole…even with her considerable assets…"

"No offense, Stevie, but Evie's friends ain't exactly the bright—_Jesus_!"

We're coming down the freeway at nearly 80 MPH when red taillights in front of us light up. I slam on the brakes and we skid to a stop, nearly crunching into a back bumper. I peer out of the window. There's a line of taillights about a mile long ahead of us. Cop cars and fire trucks sit off to the side of the road, their red and blues flashing.

Impatient, Steve drums his fingers on the dash. "What a clusterfuck…"

We sit in traffic for about 15 minutes, an angry Steve scrolling through the radio stations. He'll settle on one and then switch off as soon as a song begins. I think of my date earlier – I'd take the traffic over her any day.

A firemen is walking the white line dividing traffic, when he says, "I thought I recognized this ride…" The voice is familiar. I groan as Thomas Mercer approaches, decked out in fireman gear. He shines a flashlight in my face. "Sodapop. Steve. How're you two doing?"

"Accident up ahead?" I ask, ignoring his question.

"Big one. Semi overturned. Crews are cleaning it up now. Should be on your way in about ten minutes."

"Great." I shift the truck into drive, letting the engine rev.

"Say, how's the racing going?" the Cowboy asks, shining the light on Steve. His tone is familiar, making me wonder when they've met outside of the track meet. "The kid finally get it right?"

"What kid?" I ask. Steve's pale, the tenseness in his jaw something I recognize. "My _kid_? Are you talking about Ponyboy?"

Steve shoots me a _I'll-tell-you-later_ look, but turns his attention to Thomas. His voice is friendly. "Still needs a little work if you ask me."

Thomas nods, chuckling. "Well, feel free to use the 'vette any time. I don't mind." Then, he's saying goodbye and rejoining a group of firefighters on the sidelines.

I twist in my seat. "What in the hell was that about?"

Steve says, "Listen, Sodapop," and tells me. By the time he's done we're driving along the freeway at a crawl. My knuckles are white as I grip the wheel.

"I don't believe you," I snap. "Either of you."

"C'mon Soda," Steve says. "Shit, we were drag racing when we were his age."

"Get off it, Steve. I ain't mad about that. I'm _mad_ because you didn't say nothing about any of it. When it comes to my brother, I want to know about it. Especially when it involves that prick."

"What does it matter?"

"It matters to me! You know I don't like the guy, and you go and drive his fucking car?"

Wincing, Steve says, "Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do."

I give him a look. Reach over to turn up the radio. "God damn, sometimes you can be a real son-of-a-bitch."

OoO

The clear water of the lake shimmers as the sun sets. Josie casts her fishing pole, the line streaming out into the lake. Sitting in the lawn chair, she digs into the cooler beside her and pulls out two beers. She tosses me one and I catch it. We don't say much; we don't need to.

I crack the beer and take a sip.

We're going on three days at the cabin and all I've had to worry about is what Josie and I are going to do next. I don't know how to thank my brothers; they really pulled one over on me. I could see how much it meant to Pony, me simply finishing my first semester.

_Damn it. _

Just like that – thinking of my brothers – I'm flooded with wondering about Mrs. Mathews. I've toyed with calling her from the gas station but Josie said she'd tie me to the bed, which didn't seem like such a threat but I listened to her anyway.

Josie's calling me. She points at the lowering sun. "I'm hungry," she says. I finish my beer, start reeling in my line.

OoO

"Thanks a lot, kid."

I glance up from the phone book, my finger paused on the third _Hayley, H_, to see Steve hanging in the doorframe of my bedroom. "What do you want?"

He smiles; something between a grimace and a smirk. "Soda's pissed at us."

"What else is new? He pissed at me too."

The smile disappears. "Look, you little shit; we never should have borrowed that car. I never should have taken you to the lookout."

I bite my lip, having already figured Soda would be upset over that. His best friend palling around with another car and with the Cowboy definitely wouldn't sit well. First me, now Steve? Soda's probably ready to combust by now.

Steve moves close, sitting on the edge of my bed. His dark eyes flicker to the notepad I have beside my leg with its scrawled addresses_. _There's about ten of them.

"What's that?"

"Research."

"What kind of research, kid?" Steve snatches up the notepad, scrutinizing. "Anything you end up sticking your nose in blows up in your face."

I roll my eyes. "Gee, thanks." I rip the notepad from Steve's hands. "Just looking into the Cowboy a little bit. Trying to find out some stuff, is all."

"You know…" Steve shifts on the bed, looking uneasy. "You can dig around all you want. But you're gonna make yourself crazy doin' it, you know that right? What if you find out something you don't like?"

"I don't think things can get much worse." I slide my finger from the phonebook, letting it slap closed. I pull my legs up under me. "So I guess this means we're done practicing?"

"Who said anything about that? Somebody's got to teach you to drive right, Ponyboy."

OoO

"Now what you want with Helen?"

The woman in front of me – Hazel Hayley – scribbles something on a piece of paper. She's blonde and plump with glasses. I've been all over town, trying to find Helen Hayley or a Helen Mercer, and ended up finding her sister.

"I wanted to uh, ask her about her ex-husband."

"Who?" She stops mid-scribble. "Tommy?"

"Yeah, Thomas Mercer."

"Well, she goes by her _other_ married name now, Helen Fowler, so you've been looking in the wrong spot. Here…" She hands me the piece of paper. "She lives over on Elderod Drive."

"Thanks."

Hazel rests her palms on the countertop dividing us. "And just who are you to be asking around about this?"

"I want to know if she knew my mom. Lara Curtis…"

Her eyes get big. "Oh. Oh boy."

OoO

No idea what's happening in the real world and I kind of like it.

The battery-operated radio Josie has out is playing Van Morrison. I flip the burgers on the grill, watch Josie bound out of the cabin with a bag of chips. It's nearly dark outside, the moon showing through the clouds.

She sets paper plates and beers on the picnic table. I groan. "All I've done this week is drink."

Josie raises a brow. "And that's a bad thing…? Relax, Darry…you'll be back to normal in about two days."

When the burgers are done I join her at the picnic table. She pours chips on my plate and we start to talk. I tell her a bit about my parents; she talks about her eight sisters, her part-time job at the law firm. We talk about school. "I don't know…" I say, when Josie asks me what I want to do with my degree. "I haven't thought that far ahead…"

"You must have some idea…" She nods, politely sips her beer. "I could see you with your own business. Ever think about doing that?"

It's a nice thought to have. "Maybe…maybe I'd do construction, who knows. For now, I just want to concentrate on making it through community college."

"You'll make the big leagues."

"Right."

"I swear, Darrel, you're so serious." She pokes me in the ribs. "You need to laugh more."

I crack a smile and grab her wrist. "So party animal, what do you want to do tonight then?"

She pretends to shiver. Slides closer on the bench. "Well, it's getting chilly out. You want to bunker down here tonight. Keep me warm?"

"I think I can manage that."

OoO

I'm about ready to walk out the front door when I realize Two-Bit's on our couch. He's in a slouch, eyes glazed over, watching a TV show that I doubt he barely sees. He's been acting strange lately.

"Two-Bit?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong?"

"Ah, come off it, man, I can tell…" I sit beside him on the couch. "You're not your usual charming self." Ducking my head, I give him a smile.

"Hell, kid, my mind's in the gutter these days."

I check the clock on the wall. I should be leaving to go hunt down Helen Hayley before Darry gets back into town but one look at Two-Bit's face stops me. "You want to go do something, Two-Bit?"

I try to think what Two-Bit likes to do…

"Maybe…go get a drink?"

"Kid, the mere fact that you're offering to go get a beer with me tells me you really do care." He sits up. "So I'll tell you. I got a job."

"A _what_?"

"A job. You know like something you to do make money."

"No I heard you…I just—can't believe it."

"Well, believe it. Pigs flew." I crack a smile. Two-Bit holds up a hand. "It's for my ma. She's not doing too well right now so I figured I'd help out."

I bite my lip. "I'm sorry, Two-Bit." I don't ask anything more. If he wants me to know, he'll say so.

"It's okay, kid."

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Yeah," he says, grinning. "You can buy a car from me."

OoO

After talking with Two-Bit I decided to try.

To go with the flow and work it out. I can't stay angry with my brothers, not when we've worked so hard. I see Two-Bit and hope, somehow, that I can help my friend. Somehow, I'll make it work out for everyone. Life's too short to do anything else.

OoO

_Ew, gross. I kinda wrote a semi-romantic scene. Ugh. But I did it for Darry ok? OK?_

_Anyway, hope you're enjoying. Reviews would be amazing._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	14. Party of the Century

_Disclaimers: Swearing, SE Hinton owns. Much is revealed. Eeek._

Party of the Century

OoO

"It's not too late. We could go back," Josie conspiratorially says as I begin the drive out of Arkansas. She raises a brow, looking longingly at the scenery whizzing by the window. "Sell off everything and get a cabin and live like paupers."

"I already do that."

She laughs. "But seriously, Darry…do we have to go back?"

"We do. I got two mouths to feed."

Josie smiles. "Drag. But you're a good man."

I know what she means about not wanting to go back. The vacation's been a blessing in disguise. A nice escape to refuel. Even though it'll be hard to go back to reality I miss my brothers. Being away from them, thinking about what I'm missing, makes it easy to never doubt the choice I made three years ago.

OoO

I go outside to get the paper and the wind nearly blows me off my feet. Scooping it up, I dart back inside, dropping the paper bundle on top of the others. Darry's the only one who reads the paper in this house. Steve and I just use it to collect oil spills.

Pony walks into the room and stares at the blaring TV. The news is loud and bright. On screen, the weatherman shows the clouds brewing in, calling it "the storm of the century". "Tornado warnings may be issued for Tulsa and surrounding areas…stay tuned…"

"It's early for tornadoes," Ponyboy murmurs.

"Probably won't hit. They're always wrong." Sitting down, I start tightening my boots. I watch him lean against the wall and cross his arms. It's not his fault; it's not him I'm mad at. I catch my brother's eyes; they're so green, they look like grass.

"Darry'll be back today. I got work until seven, and then I'll come back home and help you pick up the place. Maybe we can make some purple potatoes."

Pony says, almost shyly, "Sounds good, Sodapop." Then he turns a full, thousand-watt, crooked smile on me and I wonder why the hell I've been such an asshole.

OoO

The greeting I get from Ponyboy isn't what I expected when I get home.

I walk through the front door, shouting hello, when suddenly Pony's there. He gives me a smile, a real smile and I'm wondering if he forgot how angry he was with me when I left.

"How was it, Dar? Did you have fun?"

"I had a great time, kiddo," I say, slinging my bag to the ground. He has an oven mitt on his left hand, he's barefoot, cigarette tucked behind his ear. "You stay out of trouble?"

His grin falters but then it's back. "I did. Just worked and hung 'round here."

"Well, something sure smells good. House looks nice too."

"It better," Soda drawls, loping out of the kitchen. "Worked our asses off. So, what'd you bring us, Dar?"

I laugh. "Diddly squat." Ponyboy chuckles, moving away, saying that he's gotta check dinner. I stick my hands in my pockets as he disappears. Eye Sodapop. "He good?"

Beaming, Soda says, "I think so. I think we're all good."

OoO

We both have the early shift. I arrive right as Steve's unlocking the door, chimes jingling overhead. I follow him in, turning the CLOSED sign to OPEN. There's a loud sigh from behind.

"You still mad at me, man?"

"I ain't mad at you, Steve. I just wish you would've told me is all."

"Yeah," Steve says. "I know. I should have."

That's all we need to say. We clock in, count the cash in the safe, and get ready for the first customer. Steve's halfway through tearing apart a transmission when I catch his eye.

"Just tell me one thing, Stevie…" Curiosity's been gnawing at me ever since I found out.

"What's that?"

"How's Pony as a driver?"

Steve barks out a laugh. "Jesus, Sodapop, I was wondering how long it'd take for you to ask me that."

OoO

The Cowboy takes me into town. And by town, I don't mean Tulsa. Some podunk town on the outskirts. We're at one of those general stores that carry everything, from car parts to groceries. Rita shoves the cart down the aisle and I follow, feeling like I'm stuck in limbo, stuck in the middle of some makeshift family.

I trudge along, Thomas chatting up some neighbors or something, when I see it. Gleaming bright in the case. Pearl-handled with a long blade. It's perfect. It's mid-June. Two-Bit's birthday is in a week.

I ask the clerk to show me the knife. I turn it over in my hands. "You like it, honey?" the elderly woman asks. Two-Bit hasn't replaced his blade since Dallas. The thought stings.

"I do."

A hand clasps me on the shoulder. "Find something you want, Pony?"

"It's a present. For Two-Bit."

"Ahhh, the sideburns guy."

I give him a smile and a nod. "I'll take it," I tell the clerk, pulling out my wallet and thanking my lucky stars I've been working this summer.

"My, oh, my, such a fancy gift…" The elderly woman continues her motherly gaze. Starting to wrap up the blade, she says to Thomas, "Your son has mighty fine taste."

My face flushes. "Oh, no – he's not my – he's not—"

The hand again on my shoulder. Saving me. "He's family." It squeezes. Tips his hat to the clerk.

There're soft footsteps as he walks away and joins Rita in another aisle. Rita begins gesturing, speaking in Spanish. As the clerk hands me the wrapped gift, I see the downcast expression on Thomas Mercer's face and hate that I feel bad.

OoO

"It's your party, cheer up, man," Steve says.

Two-Bit just shrinks back against the house, smoking like a chimney. Darry gives me a look before taking Ponyboy and the cake and going to say hello to Karen. I watch the two of them cross the yard.

"What's going on, Two-Bit? You okay?" I've never seen our friend this nervous. It ain't like Two-Bit at all.

"Sure she gets this great idea to throw me a birthday party when she can barely keep her own head on straight…" Two-Bit rambles. "This is gonna be disaster. Flat out dis—hey, baby…"

Kathy and Evie have sidled up to Two-Bit and Steve. Kathy leans over to kiss Two-Bit, Evie's already got a beer in her hands. There's a slight pang as I imagine Sandy with them but then it's gone as quickly as it's come. "Your mom wants you," Kathy says. She gives me a smile. "Hiya, Sodapop."

"Hey, Kath."

Two-Bit mutters something else about disaster but lets Kathy lead him toward the house. Steve steals Evie's beer. "Poor bastard," he mutters.

OoO

The Mathews's back yard is set up for Two-Bit's birthday, which is kind of odd because this is the first he's ever had an actual party at his house. There's not a ton of people; the usual group, plus a few friends of Cindy Mathew's and Karen's. I sit down on the picnic table that's set up. Wave a hand in front of my face to get some air.

A high-pitched giggle cuts across the yard. Shading my eyes from the sun, I see Evie and Steve walking toward me. Steve's got a hand on her waist. Evie's red mouth pulls into a smile. She waves.

"Ponyboy Curtis, I ain't seen you in forever."

"Hey Evie. How's it going?"

"Just peachy." She chews her gum, evaluating me closely. "I heard about your other dad. That must really be the pits."

I rub my face. "Yeah, it's great."

Steve groans. "What'd I tell you about bringing that up?"

"I just wanted to see how he was doing. Christ, you don't have to bite my head off."

"Maybe if you listened to me for once, maybe if you weren't so fucking crazy…"

"Steve Randle!" Evie's voice rises to a shriek.

I pull out a smoke, cussing under my breath as Evie starts bemoaning the fact that she's still a single woman. Steve settles in for the fight and I wish I were anywhere else.

OoO

"So, after we have burgers and hot dogs we sing and then we do the cake and presents…presents…I know I put those somewhere….Oh! Hello, Darrel…"

Feeling as if I've stumbled into something I shouldn't, I pause in the doorway of the kitchen. "Hi, Mrs. Mathews."

Cindy Mathews is pacing her small kitchen, flowered apron slung over her shoulder, talking to herself. No one else is in the room. I'm wondering if I should grab Karen when she says, "I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Pony said you called."

"Yes. I called. When do we do presents?"

I blink, say softly, "We have time. After the cake."

"Good. Good." Taking off the apron, she lays it across the counter. Gestures. "We should talk."

OoO

"I heard from Two-Bit about that man. About Thomas. He still thinks he's Pony's pa?"

"Still?"

I rub my hands on the fronts of my jeans and sit in the chair she has in the corner of her bedroom. Cindy Mathews sits on the edge of the bed, staring. "Mrs. Mathews…" I prod when she's quiet. "Do you know something?"

Proudly, she touches her chest. "For once your mama came to me with a problem. After all those years of helping me out, she came to _me_. Told me a secret. Do you want to know?"

"I do."

"She thought the baby was Tommy's. But it wasn't."

"It wasn't?" I repeat. My heart hammers. "Thomas says he is. Hell, he's pretty convincing. He has photos and letters…"

"She was a sad girl, your ma. She and your daddy wanted another baby. Were trying so hard but Lara couldn't keep one. I still remember her comin' over and staring at Karen in her crib and just bursting into tears." Mrs. Mathews plays with the hem on her skirt, her voice strong. "She met Thomas in the fall and when she got pregnant she chalked it up to him. But she was wrong. Because she wasn't."

"Mrs. Mathews…I don't understand…"

"She met Thomas during the summer and told him in October that she was pregnant. She really wasn't though, you know."

"Wasn't what?" I ask, frustrated.

"Wasn't pregnant. Your mama jumped the gun. In December, Thomas Mercer wasn't even in town; he was at the rodeo in Denver. That man wasn't even in the picture; your daddy was."

"Mrs. Mathews—"

"You don't believe me." Mrs. Mathews picks a piece of lint from the bed.

"Well, no, I—" I take a breath. "But I don't understand how she made the mistake?"

"It does seem foolhardy but your mama was just too hopeful. Eager, maybe. And…forgive me for saying this in front of you…but ah, she was irregular because of all her losses…thought she was when she wasn't. Then she didn't know what to think."

It takes me a minute to get what she means but then I do. I think back to that time and though I was young, I find I do remember my mom being sick a lot, locking herself in her bedroom and crying. Dad was sad too. He was sad about something.

There's commotion in the hallway and Cindy Mathews stops, watches at the door. I say nothing, for fear of interrupting or getting her off track. She continues. "She didn't know though until after she had your brother. His birthday's in July right?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Well, he came early. That's how she knew. The doctor said he did. Diagnosed premature. Looked it too…a tiny little thing. Two months." Cindy Mathews counts on her fingers. "She told Thomas in October, when in fact she really wasn't pregnant. Then fate stepped in and she was courtesy of your daddy."

My jaw's hanging open. I wasn't expecting this. I don't know what to think. And while this is exactly what I want to hear, I'm wondering if I can trust it. Cindy Mathews' head hasn't exactly been screwed on straight these days.

Cindy smiles and then laughs. "Oh, you poor thing. You look in a state of shock."

"But if she knew then why didn't she tell Thomas after Pony was born? Why'd she let him think—"

"Darrel, that's what I don't get either. She wrote letters telling Thomas he wasn't the father after the baby was born. I saw her. She mailed them."

"What happened to the letters? Why wouldn't she just tell him?"

"That's one thing I don't know," Cindy says. "Maybe she didn't want to hurt him…he left town so soon after that maybe she didn't want to bother….Honestly, honey, I think she was afraid of your dad finding out. That ain't something you want a daddy to know."

There's a long silence. Somewhere in the house Karen's shouting for her ma.

Cindy Mathews twists her hands together. "See…so when Two-Bit told me about all this I knew I had to say something. I had to tell you."

"I appreciate it, Mrs. Mathews. Thank you."

The relief is staggering. _Ponyboy. He's dad's._

She pats my knee when she stands, says, "It's time for cake," and leaves me sitting in her bedroom alone, wondering where in the hell those letters went.

OoO

"Where've you been?" I hiss at Darry as he joins the crowd in the backyard. Mrs. Mathews is singing "Happy Birthday" in a shaky voice.

"I'll tell you at home, Sodapop. Not now."

Darry's blue eyes are bright; intense enough to tell me he's worked up about something. I glance at the scene in front of me. Mrs. Mathews is singing loud. Karen is biting her lip, Two-Bit has a plastic smile plastered on his face. This ain't good, I think. This ain't good at all.

OoO

Cake is over and everyone is milling around, edging to leave the uncomfortable party. Kathy, Evie and Karen stand chatting in a circle; my brother's and Steve off to the side. I pull the present out of my pocket.

"Mrs. Mathews?" I ask. "Where can I put this?"

"What's that?"

"I got Two-Bit a present – it ain't much but—"

She wraps a hand around my wrist, drawing me to her. "You're a good friend to my Keith, you know that right?

"Uh…thank y—"

My eyes widen. Her eyes fix on the gift in my hand. "What's this?" She slaps it from my hands. The wrapped present lands on the grass. "What is that?"

People are staring. My face flushes, realizing Two-Bit wasn't kidding about his mom. I kneel, pick it up and then stand. "It's a present, Mrs. Mathews. That's all."

She leans closer. "Okay, honey. Listen, you should know about that daddy of yours…" Her mouth twists into an odd smile. Her eyes stare too long. She wraps a hand around my wrist and jerks me close. "You ain't got that other man's blood in you, you know that too."

"What?"

"Your brother knows, ask—"

"Ma!" Two-Bit shouts, darting over. Gently, he removes her hand from my wrist. "What're you doing?"

"I'm telling Pony about his father."

"You can't do that ma." Two-Bit looks tired. "You can't do this here—"

"I know what I say! I know what I mean!" Mrs. Mathew's suddenly screams. The group of people standing around suddenly quiets. She jabs an arm out, nearly punching Two-Bit in the face but missing by inches. Karen and Darry run over, Karen gripping her other arm, Darry moving me out of the way to help Two-Bit.

The look on Two-Bit's face makes me sick. I realize I'm still holding the present when they take Mrs. Mathews into the house.

OoO

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I can't tell them. Not yet. Knowing Soda he'd go over there and rub it in Thomas Mercer's face. I just gotta sit on it until it's the right time."

Josie raises her eyebrows. Stirs the soup she's cooking. "When's that gonna be?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if I believe her. I mean, hell Josie, you should've seen what happened at that party. It was a mess."

"You gonna dig around, Darry?"

"I'll do whatever it takes."

"Whatever what takes?" Ponyboy rushes into the kitchen, his face and hair soaked. I toss him a towel and he starts drying off.

"Just talking about class. Now, why're you all wet?"

Ponyboy gives me a look like I'm an idiot, says, "It's rainin' out, Dar."

"I know it is, kiddo. What've you been _doin'_ outside?" It's pitch-black outside, the wind whipping the trees against the side of the house. He doesn't say anything, instead looking guilty. "Were you with Steve? Driving?"

Soda told me about their little drag racing stint, and while I'm glad the two of them are getting along, I'm not thrilled with their choice of hobby.

Pony blushes. "Aw, Dar, we just went out for an hour, that's all."

"Pony, listen, I don't think—"

"Taste," Josie swoops in with her spoonful of soup and shoves it into my mouth. I swallow it, doing all I can do not to gag. She gives Ponyboy some and his face goes green.

"It needs salt," Pony whispers when Josie leaves the kitchen. "Lots and lots of salt." I try not to agree with him but end up breaking into a laugh anyway.

OoO

Pony's low voice filters from the living room. He's on the phone for about ten minutes when he walks out, joining me on the porch. He looks upset.

"Who was on the phone?"

"The Cowboy," comes his soft reply. He leans against the railing, lighting a cigarette with the pearl-enameled lighter he carries.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Sodapop."

"Sure don't look like nothing."

He picks at a nail and then his mouth turns into a thin, white line. "I can't do what he wants. Can't go over there. Not today."

I lean beside him. "And you shouldn't have to." I squeeze his shoulder and Pony stares off into the distance.

It's Father's Day.

OoO

I haven't seen him since the birthday party two weeks ago. He didn't even show up for the fourth of July at our place. The work shirt he's wearing is stark-white and serious, seeming out of place on the usually chipper Two-Bit. His hair rusty slicked back and professional.

He raises a hand as I cross the car lot.

"Hey kid, what brings you around here? Come to scope out my place of employment?"

"I still can't believe it, but you got the name badge and everything." Two-Bit's grin stretches into a long, awkward silence. I wrap my arms around myself, uncomfortable. "Look, I'm sorry about your mom, I didn't know how—"

"It's okay, Ponyboy. It's not like I was itching for everyone to find out anyway."

I kick at a rock. Watch it roll across the cement. "So you sell a car yet?"

"Surprisingly enough, I have. Which is a good thing since medication's expensive these days." He laughs. "Don't look so worried, Ponyboy. The docs are checking her out. She'll be good as new."

His optimism scares me but I don't say so. I just hope he's right. "Let me know if I can do anything," I mumble, feeling like a jackass.

"You already have," he says. "I got your present. I needed a new blade."

"You like it?"

"Hell, I love it. It's the best gift anyone's ever gave me. And that includes those Sea-Monkeys I got when I was 16. Granted, I fed them to the dog but that's beside the point." This time, Two-Bit really smiles. "So thank you, kid. I mean it."

I shield my eyes against the sun. "I know."

OoO

_Ok, so I hope you all liked this chapter. Man, I sweated over this. Anywho, don't give up on me. More to come AND it's all delicious trouble (but what else do you expect from my stories?).Just a warning._

_Please read and review._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	15. All the Fishes in the Sea

Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns. Swearing. AND A BIG CLIFFIE. I warned you.

All the Fishes in the Sea

OoO

July flies by. In between registering for fall classes and working, I dig around in the attic. A lot. Searching for letters my mother may have never mailed. I don't find anything and again, the doubt is there. I try to have another talk with Mrs. Mathews but, like before, she won't return my calls.

I decide to tell Soda.

OoO

As angry as I am with my brother for keeping this from me, I'm so goddamned happy it makes up for it.

"I can't find out anything else," Darry's saying, his fingers spread across the top of the kitchen table, his hands large and full of veins. "I looked everywhere, Sodapop."

"Do you believe Mrs. Mathews?"

"I don't know what to think, Sodapop…but yeah, deep down, I do."

I grin; draw up straighter in the chair. "She's right. I know she is. Do you know what that means, Dar? Do you know what that goddamn means?" I pound a fist on the table. "We can get rid of the Cowboy. Once and for-fucking-all."

"It does mean that…" Darry begins. "But we have to be careful. We don't have any real proof."

"He didn't have proof either. I'd say we're about even."

"I know, Soda, but she may or may not be right and I don't want to risk stirring the pot. I don't want to hurt Pony either."

I get what Darry's saying. Throwing more doubt into our youngest brother's head isn't what he wants to do. I don't either. But still, he needs to know.

"So we don't tell him?"

"Not yet."

"Well, when do we tell him, Dar? We can't keep letting it go on like this. Keeping it from him just ain't right."

"I know," Darry says. "Soon. We'll tell him soon." He squeezes his hands into fists.

OoO

"What're you up to today, Ponyboy?" My brother's shoving a notepad and pencil into his backpack. He zips his bag, shouldering it.

"Just bummin' around town I guess." He bites his lip, face red. "Maybe go see Two-Bit."

I give him a look telling him I don't believe him. I know how he is when he's up to something – but I let it go for now. I check my watch. My shift starts in 20 minutes, a job an hour outside of town. Throwing a glance to the window, the sky's brewing with clouds and rain.

"Yeah, well, you be sure to get back by dinner. Sooner if it gets worse out. You never know how these storms are gonna turn out."

Lately, tornado warnings have been rolling in nearly every other night. It's hotter than it should be and that combined with the rain and humidity has everyone in Tulsa on watch.

"Sure thing, Dar."

"Hey," I say as he's about to leave. "We need to talk about Saturday."

He wrinkles his nose. "Aw, Dar, I told you, I don't want one."

"We ain't just gonna do nothin'," Soda says, running out of his bedroom, DX cap on his head, a car magazine under one arm. "So forget about it." He gives the both of us a wave and is out the door, Steve waiting for him in the driveway.

I say, "Look, we'll talk tonight, okay kiddo?" He shrugs, trying to hide a smile.

It's three days until Ponyboy's sixteenth birthday.

OoO

Helen Hayley Mercer Fowler wears her dark hair in a high bun. A cloud of smoke wafts around her head. She offers me a cigarette and I take one. She offers me a drink and I tell her I'll pass. She's a Soc if I've ever seen one. So far we've made small talk about the weather Darry's so concerned about, and now the conversation turns to Thomas Mercer.

"So…" she says after I tell her why I'm there. Brown eyes squint, evaluating. "Funny. You may look like him but you're not his. Close though. I'd almost buy it." Helen ashes her smoke. She raises a finely arched brow. "He believes it?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. A thunder of footsteps above me. I raise my eyes to the ceiling of the gigantic house.

"Why wouldn't he…he always loved Lara." Helen smiles, but it's fake. "I knew your mom. She was sweet. In a way."

Unsure if that's a compliment or insult, I ignore it. I ask, "You don't think it's true?"

"Honey, I _know_ it. You ain't that man's child."

"How do you know?"

"I was his wife."

"But…But how?" Everything in my vision is going black. I have to force myself to focus. "How?"

"Well, clearly, your mama never got the chance to tell you not to ask ladies such brazen questions." Helen smirks. Opens her mouth and hollers, "Freddy! Keep it down! Don't make me come up there!" Instantly, the noise upstairs quiets.

"Kids," Helen says. She looks at me so long, like she's expecting me to get something that I finally blink. She tinkles out a long laugh. "Oh, honey. You don't get it do you? It was all about the kids." She gives me a withering glance then points to the ceiling.

"Kids. Thomas Mercer was shooting blanks, pardon my French."

"What?"

"Blanks. As in dry as a well." There's a long drag on her smoke and I sit there feeling like I've been slapped. "Seven years with the man and nothing. I know it."

It's odd having this conversation with an adult. "But, but then why would he think…"

With one wave, she dismisses the question. "I never told Tommy. It would have killed him. Especially after Lara…" Her face softens. "I loved him, but I wanted a family. I couldn't stay with him after—damn it, Freddy! I told you, you play nice with your sister!"

I sit, frozen.

"Child, are you alright?" Showing some of the first compassion I've seen all day, Helen offers me a tissue. I blot my forehead, the sweat sticking in layers.

"I'm okay," I say. I stand, ready to go.

"Is that maid still there? That Rita?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," Helen sniffs. "She never liked me."

She walks me to the door. Presses a smooth palm against my cheek. "You look very much like your mother," she says.

OoO

I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. The conversation with Helen Hayley having thrown me for a loop.

So I go to the worst, or maybe the best, place that I know.

The Cowboy's.

OoO

I'm telling Steve about Darry's conversation with Cindy Mathews when her son bounces into the DX. It's one of the first times I've seen Two-Bit in a good mood since his party. I shut up and change conversation.

"You're not outta here yet?" Two-Bit asks, hooking a finger back.

Steve swears as a bolt pops off. I shake my head. Two-Bit points to a window. "Have you seen the sky outside? Blacker than black. Betcha sirens'll be goin' off any time now."

I wipe oily hands on my jeans. "Can you tell Pony—"

"Pony? I ain't seen him at all today. Was I supposed to?"

"Shit, I don't know…he mentioned maybe stopping by and—"

Two-Bit holds up his hands. "Don't kill the messenger, the bearer of bad news, the sultan of swing because boy howdy and cheese and crackers I definitely don't have the slightest where that kid could have gone."

At that moment the radio crackles, something about a tornado watch. Steve's groan can be heard throughout the DX. I wipe my hands on my jeans.

OoO

"Young man, you ought to come down from there."

I let out a low laugh; it's been a while since I've been called a young man.

Finished with the job, I climb down from the roof. An elderly couples stands next to the ladder. The husband, Mr. White says, "Lordy, it's getting a might bad out there."

Taking a look at the sky, I see that's an understatement. Off in the distance the faint tail of a tornado lingers, not yet touching the ground. The wind whips, dust flying.

"I'm afraid we picked a bad day to fix our roof, Walter," the wife says. She tugs at my sleeve. "Come down with us to the cellar before it hits."

"Thank you, ma'am but I really need to get going, my bro—"

Her eyes widen. "You are not driving in this, sonny. You'd be liable get caught up in that. And then where would you be, broken truck and all?"

"Ma'am, I—"

"Come on now, come on inside…"

I'm about to protest, thinking about my brothers, when the tornado siren sounds. Loud and clear across the plain. The skies open up and the rain drenches us. As we run for the house I'm hoping Soda has everything under control before I'm able to get home.

OoO

When I get there I can't do it. I can't ask him. I can't tell him.

The minute he throws open the door his face breaks into a smile. "Ponyboy, son, what're you doin' here? Hell, the weather alone should have kept you—"

I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and giving him a hug. He smells like hay and dirt.

"Whoah," the Cowboy says when I pull away. "What's got you worked up, kid?"

"I'm fine. Just wanted to see you is all."

Cowboy barks out a laugh, sounding pleased. "You're just in time to help me with the horses."

OoO

"God damn it." I stomp across the living room floor.

"He ain't here."

"Well, no shit, Sherlock," Steve snaps at Two-Bit.

I think of where he'd be and swear. The Cowboy's. Steve's already handing me his keys. "Go get him, Sodapop, but Jesus, get your ass back here in a hurry." I shoot a look of thanks to my friend.

I start Steve's truck and back it out of the driveway, tires squealing. The windshield wipers ricochet back and forth. As the hail starts pattering on the hood, something tells me I should have waited this out at home.

"Damn it, Pony, you better be there." Gritting my teeth, I steer the truck up over the highway.

OoO

The barn door flies open, clattering back on its hinges. Thomas and I both jump, the horses in their stalls making nervous noises. Goosey starts barking, pacing back and forth on top of a hay bale. The Cowboy stabs the pitchfork deep into a bale. He squints at the sky beyond the doors. Lightening cuts a jag down the sky. It's only four in the afternoon but could pass for a dark night.

"We'd best go inside, son." He gives me a grin. "Storm cellar might come in handy tonight."

Ice churns deep in my stomach. "I should go home."

"Not tonight," Thomas says, frowning. "You shouldn't go anywhere." He sticks a hand out, touching my back, moving me forward and out of the barn. "Let's go inside. Rita makes a mean hot chocolate."

Goosey chases us out of the barn. I wait as Thomas locks it. Eye the tail of the tornado in the sky and worry.

OoO

I try calling Soda for the fifth time. The DX. Our house. Even Two-Bit's but there's no answer. I slam the receiver down. "Damn it."

"Don't fret, _mijo_," Rita soothes. "They be okay." She hands me a cup of hot chocolate but I don't touch it.

Thomas stands by the window, chewing on a cigarette. He's smoking in the house. He wipes sweat from his brow, takes off his cowboy hat. The radio's chittering away, the newscaster saying, "_No twister-related injuries have been reported, but an insurance office was destroyed in Tillman County, in the southwest part of the state…_"

_Flick. ._

The flame on the lighter goes out. After pouring a glass of an amber colored liquid, Thomas sits beside me at the counter. "That your mama's?" He takes a swig.

"Yeah," I say. "Found it in her things." I shove it back into my pocket, swallowing thickly. "Listen…" I begin. "Listen…I need to talk to you…"

It's not that I want Thomas Mercer to be my father. It's just another person in my life – a father figure – who will go away. When I tell Darry and Soda that he really isn't—Hell, I keep losing the people I care about.

Lights flicker inside the house. Rita turns the teakettle off.

I take a breath. "Look, I didn't want this…but I was beginning to think that…well…maybe you were…"

"Easy, Pony." Thomas pats my leg. "What's goin on with you?"

Groaning, I shove off the stool and walk across the kitchen. My heart's hammering. I really want Darry right now. He'd know what to do. Lights flood the front yard, and squinting, I move to the front door, opening it against the gusting wind and rain, when Goosey suddenly barks and races outside. The Labrador disappears into the storm.

"Goosey!" I shout before chasing after the dog.

OoO

The storm cellar is musty and cramped. Walter and Sadie White are well prepared. A row of canned food, flashlight, and a battery-operated radio make up a few of the items in the cellar. I listen to the news and pace the room, hands in my pockets.

"Darrell, son, you're an anxious one aren't you?" Mrs. White says.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tuning her out, I concentrate on the sound of the whipping wind outside and hail pattering above. I hate this. Not being in control. Not knowing what's going on. I take my toolbelt off, sling it to the ground.

Walter White turns up the radio. "It's a doozy out there. We best settle in for the evening."

Mrs. White starts bringing out blankets and cans of Spam.

All I can think about, worry about, is them.

OoO

"Goosey! _Gooooooosey_!"

The wind carries my words and breath away. I cup my hands around my mouth and yell for her again. _Damn it_, I think, feeling responsible for losing her in this storm. It's black out; I squint, making out vague shapes. The corvette by the barn, the gnarled oak tree, the pond, the house in the near distance…

"Goos—" I stop. Listen. There's a dog barking. I move in the direction of the noise, when I hear something else mixed in with the howling wind. A truck rumbling, then the engine dying.

I wipe rain from my face, struggling to stand straight up in the rushing air. It's like trying to move against an industrial fan, making me lean at an odd angle. "Sodapop," I say, seeing a shaded figure cross the front yard. I take a step, intent on going to greet him, when Goosey darts by.

Going the opposite direction, I make a grab for her collar but trip instead, landing near the edge of the pond. The water is full of waves, raindrops making their mark on the surface. The knees of my jeans are soaked and I can't help but laugh when Goosey trots up and licks my cheek. "You're a pain in my ass, you know?" I say, gripping her collar and pulling myself up. She sits in the mud, wags her tail.

Lightning flashes, close by, my ears practically ringing from the reverberation. There's a loud crack, like something snapping in half and then it looks like the large oak tree is moving toward me. Surprised, I blink.

The pain in my temple is sudden and bright.

OoO

"He here?"

Thomas Mercer has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his Wranglers. "Oh, he's here all right. Shook up about something." He lets me into the house.

"What happened?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe you can get him to talk."

"I can." I glance around the house, anxious to get my brother and get the hell home. Wondering if it's some plan of Ponyboy's or the weather to force me and the Cowboy into contact. "Where is he?"

"Ponyboy went to get Goosey…damn dog ran out on—"

"Fine," I interrupt. "I'll wait."

The Cowboy gives me a look. "You don't like me much do you, Sodapop?"

"I don't. But hopefully I won't have to put up with you much longer."

It's not much, but it's enough to rub it in.

Startled, Thomas Mercer frowns. After a long silence he crosses the room, going to the window. "I don't blame you, kid...but for Pony's sake we should try to get along."

I shake my head. "Mister, you got another thing comin' if you think you're—"

"_Now_ what's she barking at…?" Tearing his gaze away from me, the Cowboy's frown deepens as frantic barks begin to float in from outside. Boots clacking on the wood floor, he opens the back door. "Goosey!" Lightning flashes. "What're you—oh Jesus…"

With that, Thomas runs into the backyard. After a moment, he shouts for me and I chase after him into the rain and thrashing wind. I can barely see anything in the dark light; I scour what's in front of me and then a burst of lightning lights up the backyard.

Thomas is waist-deep in the pond and just when I think it's a pretty shitty time to go swimming, I see what's bobbing on the surface. The Cowboy reaches for the body, grasping a thin, white arm.

I rush the lake, barreling in until I'm up to my knees. Goosey keeps barking, the sound an alarm bell in my ears and I pray to god it's not him. But the way my heart drops before I see him tells me it is. The Cowboy flips the body over and pulls it against his chest. He fights against the chopping, rolling water and begins to make his way back.

I scramble back up on the bank, watch in horror as the Cowboy lifts Ponyboy out. It's my brother; it's my goddamn little brother. His eyes are closed, head lolled back over the Cowboy's arm, limbs dangling like limp pieces of spaghetti.

Thomas lays him on the bank. I fall to his side. The order's sharp but panicked. "Soda, you do CPR while I start chest compressions."

I dip my face, resting a hand on Pony's chin to tilt it back. With each pump and each breath I feel my life falling away. Every second his eyes stay closed I think I'm going to lose it. I begin to shake. We work for 15 minutes in the roaring wind and freezing rain and there's nothing. Still nothing.

Tornado sirens begin to ring in the distance.

Thomas Mercer is still pounding his chest.

I brush Ponyboy's hair from his face. Even in the pitch dark I can see he's not breathing. "Goddamnit, honey, _please_ don't do this." I wipe my face, between the rain and the tears, I can barely see anything.

I dip low, across his body, feeling like I'm going to combust. "_Christ_, _please_…"

"_C'mon_," the Cowboy mutters. "_C'mon_." He rolls Ponyboy onto his side where bile and foam begin to slowly spill out of his mouth like water from a garden hose. But he doesn't cough. He doesn't make much movement at all.

A warmth spreads behind my eyes. Red flares. "No!" I shout. "Don't you die on me, Ponyboy. Don't you dare!"

"Ponyboy!" The Cowboy shouts, an echo of my own warning. "_Goddamn breathe_!" He pounds Pony's back hard, one, two, three times, and just like that my brother gives a tiny jerk and begins to weakly cough.

I utter a moan, disbelieving. I smooth Pony's hair back, and abruptly feel a knot on the back of his skull, my hand coming away silky wet.

"Thatta boy," Cowboy says. "Thatta boy."

Thomas Mercer scoops Pony up in his arms and we bolt for the house.

OoO

It's chaos.

Kicking the front door open, Rita starts wailing in Spanish, shouting _mijo_, and trying to get a good look at my brother. Thomas lays Pony on the couch, his head lolling to the side. I take his chin and give it a shake. His face is clammy, like I'm resting a hand against an icy Coke bottle.

"We gotta get him to the hospital."

"Phone lines are down," Rita sniffles.

"I'll take him then," Thomas says.

"No, _Tomas_, no, the sirens are going off. It's not safe out there. You cannot drive."

"We have to do something," I say, panic creeping into my gut. "I'll goddamn take him; we can't just leave him like this." I'm beginning to shake as I reach out and wipe my brother's face free of the matted hair. His face burns my hand. _Damn it Ponyboy, wake the hell up right now._

"No, no, no," Rita says.

"I'm taking him, Rita. You," Thomas says as I stand, placing a hand against my chest. "Stay here."

"Are you crazy? I'm co—"

"Stay with Rita. It's bad out there. Really bad. I have to take Pony, but Sodapop, for your mama, you gotta stay safe. So sit down and shut the hell up." He squints in the dim light. "Okay, kid? You can come when it calms down."

Dipping, Thomas scoops up my brother once again and is out the door before anyone can protest. The room swirls. I sink onto the couch; bury my head in my hands.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_As always, thank you for reading. Reviews would be amazing. And I'll update this Sunday, so you'll get two for one._

_XO, _

_Feisty_


	16. Fast As You Can

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns. Swearing. _

Fast As You Can

OoO

I'm walking down the hallway of St. Mary's, my shoes squishing from water and mud, tracks left behind on the linoleum. It's one in the morning and Steve's truck is parked outside on the curb next to the liquor store.

The Cowboy stands when he sees me coming. "I thought I told you to stay at the house."

"How's Ponyboy?"

"They don't know yet."

"I want to talk to a doctor," I say hollowly. "I want to talk to a doctor now." I close my eyes. Open them. A nurse walking down the hall stops and stares.

"They're trying to get him conscious." Thomas Mercer runs a hand through his hair, nervously paces the hallway. He's tired. Worried. "He'll be okay. He will be."

I touch a fist to my mouth, breathe into it, say, "What am I gonna tell Darry? Oh, Jesus…"

"Sodapop…" The Cowboy takes a step closer.

"He's got to be okay." I turn away, resting my fist against the wall. "He just has to be." My shoulders shake. "_Goddamnit_…"

The Cowboy stays with me in the hall until I'm done.

OoO

The weather's gloomy. The sky like it's dusk instead of early morning. Luckily, the surrounding Tulsa area and my house are in one piece. I barrel out of my truck, heading for the house, shouting for my brothers.

Inside it's dark.

It's dark and that's when I see the note. Taped onto the front of the fridge.

I rip it off, eyeing Steve's scrawl.

_St. Mary's. Hurry._

OoO

I've found the doctor. Now I just need to find him.

I rub my hands on the fronts of my jeans as I enter the fluorescent-lit cafeteria. I spot him instantly. Soda's sitting at a table, back hunched, head bowed. I cross the room, spying a coffee cup in front of him. "Soda. Sodapop…"

I got the gist of what happened from the doctor and being here, being in control, is all I can do to stay calm. I haven't seen Thomas Mercer since I arrived and hour ago; the doctor being the one to direct me down here.

He won't look at me. "Soda?" I say, resting a hand on his back. "You okay?"

Nodding slightly, Soda sticks a smoke in his mouth. He doesn't light it, his hands running over and over the plastic surface of the table as if he's trying to smooth it out. He covers his face and cries.

OoO

"I spoke with the doctor."

"Yeah. I did too."

"They said they won't know anything until he wakes up."

"Yeah. They told me that too," Soda sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. His voice comes out muffled. "I just want him to be okay. To just wake up and be okay."

"Sodapop, I'm worried too."

Soda pulls out a smoke. It shakes as he holds it. I look at him close. Squeeze my fists together underneath the table. "Why was he at the Cowboy's? I told him to come straight home—"

"Yeah, I know what you told him. And I don't know what he was doin' up there, Dar. Upset about something, I don't know." He laughs, coarse and hard. "I was too busy trying to stick it to The Cowboy to even give a shit."

"It's not your fault, you know."

Soda fixes me with tired, dark eyes. "He saved 'im, Dar."

"What?"

"The Cowboy—Thomas Mercer. He got Ponyboy back. Got him breathing again. So it doesn't matter anymore. That—it doesn't matter. I'll never like the guy but I sure can't hate him now."

I rub my jaw, say, "Soda," and he just sits there staring at me like I have all the answers. I find myself in a place I've never been in; one where I'm so goddamn angry I want to put a fist through the wall, and one where I can't even move, sick with worry.

I want to reach out and give my brother a hug, tell him it will be okay, but my arms feel frozen to my body. Finally, when I say nothing, he says, "God I can't believe this…"

I squeeze his shoulder. I take the pack of smokes away as he reaches for another one.

Soda's head jerks up as the cafeteria door swings open. We look over as Steve and Two-Bit shuffle into the near-empty cafeteria.

"The Cowboy's gone," Steve says, sounding so mad. "He just fucking left."

OoO

My dreams seem odd. They're never this peaceful.

I see my mom, washing the dishes. She's in shorts and a big blouse, humming a tune. Her reddish-brown hair curled up into a bun. I'm sitting on the ground, legs folded underneath me just watching her. When she turns around, she's pregnant.

She comes to me, kneeling with a heavy belly. She drops letters, raining like confetti, in my lap, stretches her long fingers out and places them against my cheek. "You are my beautiful boy," she whispers.

OoO

He's there the next morning, taking charge. He gets Pony moved to a bigger room. A better room. Talks to the doctor in hushed tones and walks past Ponyboy's room a dozen times a day. Darry's about ready to spit fire, I can tell, but he says nothing. It's not the place.

I can't be mad anymore. I'm worrying about other things.

OoO

"You're back."

The Cowboy nods. I've found him next to the vending machines by the nurse's station. He's in jeans and boots, his hat on his head. I haven't slept in a day and judging by the looks of him he hasn't either.

"You look like hell, Sodapop."

"I'd say the same about you." I stifle a yawn. "Where'd you disappeared to yesterday?"

Clearing his throat, Thomas Mercer hitches his thumbs around his belt loops. "I know. It was a shit thing to take off like that. But Christ, Sodapop…I had to get outta here. Seeing him like th—"

"He'll be okay." My voice is hoarse and I wonder how many times I've repeated that to someone today.

"He went out to get that damned dog…" The Cowboy's voice cracks. "I never should have let him…"

"You couldn't have done anything..."

"Hell, I know. But it still seems like I should have stopped it somehow."

I know the feeling. I watch Steve and Two-Bit round the corner at the end of the hall. Steve nods with his head. Two-Bit punches the elevator button. My eyes drift back to the Cowboy.

"So listen, man, thanks."

Startled, he asks, "For what?"

"You saved Pony, you found him." I look down, shake my head. Any ounce of anger or bitterness I've ever held for the Cowboy has evaporated. "If you hadn't…a few more minutes—thank you. Thank you so goddamn much."

I shake his hand.

OoO

"You oughta go home. Get changed. Sleep some."

I almost laugh. Stretching out in the uncomfortable chair I smear a hand down my face. "I ain't leaving, Thomas. You know that."

"I do," he says. "Can't fault me for trying."

I take the cup of coffee he holds out. Thomas Mercer sits across from me in the same uncomfortable chair.

"How're you holding up?"

"Fine as I can be. Considering."

An ashtray sits on the windowsill, filled to the brim with butts and ashes. The large room smells like smoke, a blessing, clouding out the medicinal smell. The monotonous drone of the heart monitor the only sound coming from my brother.

Thomas pulls a flask out of his back pocket, uncapping it and tipping a splash into his coffee. He offers me some and I shake my head. I decide to ask what I've been wondering ever since I arrived.

"What'd Pony want the other day? Why was he at the house?"

The Cowboy gives me a shifty glance, like he doesn't trust what I'm asking. I lean forward, resting elbows on the knees of my jeans. "Soda said he was upset."

"I didn't call him to come out, if that's what you want to get at."

I look at him.

"Came on his own," Thomas Mercer says, draining his drink. "He was upset, god knows why. Kid didn't even know what he wanted to say."

"That sounds like Pony." My jaw clenches and I turn away. Outside in the hall, Soda and Steve are talking, their dark profiles stern and nodding.

The Cowboy drops his cup onto the ground, swearing loudly. He takes a drink straight from the flask. Winces. "This is hard, Darrel. I don't know how you do it…with him in there and everything else floating around…"

Thomas Mercer baring his soul in my brother's hospital room isn't what I want. What I want is to tell him he's not Ponyboy's father but hell if this isn't the place. I should have told my brother. Now I'm just hoping I have the chance.

The Cowboy says, "Man, this fucks you up good, doesn't it?" and swirls the flask. Something tells me he's not talking about the booze. His eyes move to Ponyboy in the bed.

"I mean, hell Darrel, ever think about things you should have done in your life? Have the chance to do but never took it? I mean with that kid it's like I got a second chance somehow…"

My back cracks as I sit up straight in the chair. "You can't drink in here. If you want to drink go to a bar."

He stares at me and then nods and stands. Caps the flask. "You're right. I'm sorry about that Darry." His boots clack as he crosses the room.

Thomas Mercer pauses at the door before he leaves, says, "I don't know what I did before that kid came along."

I watch him leave.

Sometimes I don't know either.

OoO

All signs point to progress. According to his doctor, Ponyboy should be waking up anytime. He _will_ wake up. _How_ he'll wake up is a different story. One I can't even entertain.

Darry's girl comes by. Two-Bit's mom with food. Rita with tea for everyone. Eventually they leave; Two-Bit and Steve always staying.

It's only been two days and already I feel like I'm going crazy.

OoO

Whispered breath and an opening of something. Crackling sounds like a paper bag. A dry hand slips into mine. "You never were supposed to know but now…now if you don't…I'll never forgive myself..."

Foggy dark hits me before I realize I'm asleep. It's like I'm swimming through mud to wake up. The hand squeezes. The last thing I remember is a dog barking.

"_Tomas_ is not your father, Ponyboy. I'm so, so sorry. I kept this for him but my _mijo_ things look dark for you. If you must go, it is time for you to know. Your mother told me long ago. Sent me things because she knew the right. I knew too. Only I'm a coward. A fool. I tried to protect him…"

The voice goes on until a chair pushes back. I open my eyes as the door swings shut. I don't see who left.

A white room greets me, random cords strewn across my chest. I don't really realize what I've heard. In fact, I don't know a lot of things right now. But I don't care. I slip back into sleep.

OoO

"Eat something for chrissakes." Steve drops a sandwich in my lap.

"Thanks." I peel the plastic wrap off and take a bite. It tastes like mush. I swallow it fast.

Steve kicks his legs up on the row of chairs and reclines. We've claimed the small waiting area outside Ponyboy's room as our own. It's beginning to smell like smoke and trash and I'm wondering when the nurses are going to chase us out.

"I don't know how you're doing it," Steve says. He nods at Darry who's down the hall on the payphone talking to Josie. "I don't know how _he's_ doing it. I would've decked the guy by now."

"Who?"

He gives me an exasperated look that tells me I'm losing it. "Who do you think? The Cowboy, Sodapop."

"I think you're more pissed off about it than I am Steve."

"Yeah well, someone's got to be. Besides I know you're worrying about the kid."

"We should have told him. Now if—"

"Don't," Steve says. "I already got Two-Bit moping around over this." He raises his eyes to the ceiling. "We all know he'll be okay. Ponyboy always comes up swinging. Shit, I still got to teach him the best way to launch a car."

I laugh and Steve joins in. we both watch as the Cowboy passes Darry in the hall and goes to the Nurse's Station. Darry frowns, hangs up the phone.

"You know," Steve says, sitting up. "I think Darry wants a fight." He sounds happy about it.

I sigh. "I think you're right."

OoO

I open my eyes again and the room is still white. Sterile. Smelling like cigarette smoke and antiseptic.

My head feels light and airy but I manage to sit up. This time the room comes into focus. I'm in the hospital. Shocked, I glance down, wincing at the IV in my hand. I take in the scene: the room's a mess. Newspapers and candy bar wrappers littered across the table. A deck of playing cards and Soda's DX cap. There's an ashtray on the nightstand that looks like it's seen better days.

Two-Bit's asleep in the chair next to my bed. I reach out and shake his leg.

He sits up with a snort. Blinking, it's as if he suddenly sees me and then jumps. "Kid! Jesus, you're awake—wait, tell me how many fingers—" He holds up a full hand.

"Um, five? Two-Bit, I don't see why you're—"

"Middle name."

"Michael."

"Hmmm…I guess I'll believe that. Okay, names of parents?"

"Darrel and Lara—but Two-Bit, what're you—"

Two-Bit reaches over, across my shoulder, and jabs the white button above my bed. "Now answer me this…one, final question that will determine everything. Elvis or the Beatles?"

"Elvis."

Relief crosses his face. "Glory, it's good to see you." He squeezes my leg beneath the blankets. "So fucking good."

"Was I hard to be seen?"

"Still a smartass." Two-Bit's smile is wan. "We were worried about you, Ponyboy. Docs weren't sure if you'd wake up."

"What happened?"

Two-Bit gives me a close stare, his gray eyes cloudy for once. "You don't remember?"

I think about it. "Maybe. I don't know." Two-Bit keeps glancing back at the door and that's when I realize he's waiting for the doctor to come in and interrupt us.

"You took a real knock on the head."

I reach up, touch the bandage on my temple. I wonder how close I came. Two-Bit presses the CALL button again.

"Scared the almighty shit out of us."

"Are they—"

"Oh, yeah. You can bet your ass they ain't far. Soda's showering in the bathroom…" Two-Bit holds up a hand. "Don't ask. And Darry's hunting down some coffee."

I think about it. I remember the storm, the Cowboy, vague memories that whirl and blur. There was a dark haired woman...someone in my hospital room…but the reason I was at the Cowboy's house that night escapes me.

Confused, I smear my face in my hands, cords dragging across me in all directions. Already I have a headache. "Oh, man…I don't—"

"Kiddo, don't worry about it," Two-Bit says softly. "Doc will get you good as new." I breathe slowly in my hands, trying to find lost thoughts.

"Pony."

I look at him through splayed fingers. Two-Bit's grinning for once. "What?"

"Happy birthday."

"Birthday?"

"Yeah, kid, you've been asleep for three days."

OoO

The door of the chapel creaks open and for a minute, I glance up, forgetting why I'm here. Margarita stands in the doorway. She takes a few tiny steps inside and then crosses herself. I haven't been in a church since my parents died. All it's come to mean to me is sorrow and grief.

"_Pobrecito_…" There's something white in her hands. It looks like paper. "Poor boy…"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. My world's falling down and my patience wearing thin. "I can't do this right now, Rita. I really can't."

"But Mister Darry, I must tell you…if he—if he—"

"He won't."

Rita holds out the whiteness. "You need to know…"

I blink fast, clearing my eyes. I'm about to answer her, ask her _what_, tell her to get the hell out, when there's an urgent voice over the loudspeaker, calling me to Ponyboy's room.

I run down the hall. Fast as I can.

OoO

The door opens, the doctor glances up, and then they're there. All of them.

OoO

He doesn't look good and he doesn't sound good, but he's awake and talking. That's all that counts.

Thankful, I squeeze Pony's hand. He's worried, watching the doctor talk with Darry and Thomas Mercer. Darry doesn't like it. His arms crossed against his chest, face reddening every time the Cowboy opens his mouth to give his opinion

I sit next to Pony on the bed, practically on top of him. "How do you feel kiddo?"

"Like I got hit by a Mac truck. A really big one."

"Pone, you have no idea."

Biting his lip, he asks, "Is our house okay?"

I have to laugh, leave it to my brother to worry about our house. "It's all in one piece, which is more than I can say for you."

Relieved, he smiles. "Good," is all he says.

Darry's voice rises. Pony raises his eyebrows. He looks tired and troubled. He needs rest. I touch his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll find out what's going on."

"You want to keep it down?" I snap when I reach the circle hovering in the corner. The doctor looks annoyed. He clicks his pen, marks something on his chart.

"I was just telling these two, that we'll need to conduct some tests to evaluate the level – if any – of brain trauma. Barring that…Ponyboy will be weak for a few days. He'll need a little extra care…"

"That's why," Thomas Mercer speaks up, "Pony should stay at my place. You two have to work and Rita can—"

"I can take care of him," Darry says. "You don't have to worry about that."

"Oh, c'mon guys," Ponyboy groans from the bed.

The doctor continues, "As I was saying I don't want you all to worry too much. He looks fine…on the surface at least…he does has a slight fever, which should hopefully go away by the time we release him."

"Anything you need to do, I'll take care of it," The Cowboy says to the doctor. He glances at Darry. "I think it's important he stay with me."

"Thomas," Darry warns, his jaw jumping. It's clear – now that Ponyboy's fine and we know the Cowboy's not the father – Darry's not going to waste any time playing nice. Which is fine by me. We owe the Cowboy, but not this.

"I'm sorry," the doctor says. He pushes his glasses high on his nose. "I'm confused. Who should I be speaking with about Ponyboy?"

"I'm his guardian," Darry snaps, losing his cool. "You talk to me about anything relating to my brother."

Cowboy removes his hat. "Now Darrel—"

"You," I say to Thomas, "You need to go."

"I'm not trying to step on any toes. I just feel Pony would be better—"

"Get out," Darry booms causing the doctor to jump. I'm used to it by now. "Get out. I'm gonna deal with my brother and then I'm going to come deal with you."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. So appreciated. I'm taking this story to an even 20 chapters (dear god, I know), so a few more to go. _

_Please read and review._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	17. Don't Want

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns. Swearing._

Don't Want

OoO

"What's wrong, Pony?" Soda touches my chin, tipping it up.

I shake my head. "I don't…" My eyes move to Darry who's prowling around the room as he speaks with the doctor. "I don't really remember anything from that night. That day even…" My memory's spotty. A dark haired woman…Hannah maybe…Helen…

"Don't worry about that. We'll fix it."

I give him a grin. "I didn't know you were a doctor, Sodapop. Last I heard, you were a greaser." Soda laughs. The door slams as the doctor leaves. Darry strides over. "You're not going to fight the Cowboy, are you?" I ask.

"Don't worry about that," Darry says, tucking the edge of the blanket so tight under the bed that I can barely move.

"No, Dar, you can't—"

"Pony, just relax. I'm gonna talk to him." His eyes are hard ice.

"Right," I mutter, my throat full of razorblades. "Good thing we're already in a hospital."

Darry pats my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, but I notice he doesn't say anything else about the Cowboy. I lean back in the bed and yawn. I just want to go home. Get out of here and crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years. My brothers look tired; exhausted really, on their last waking nerve but their relief is evident in their faces.

"When can I get out of here?"

"Soon, Ponyboy."

"Aw, c'mon, Dar. I'm sick of this place."

"You just woke up two hours ago, Ponyboy," Soda says. "Take it easy." He reclines in the chair next to my bed. Scowls at the machinery.

"Yeah, but I've been here for three days. I'm ready." Darry lifts a brow and I can see it's not going to be as easy as simply begging.

"You're not going anywhere," Darry says. "You got some tests firsts." He holds up a finger, silencing my protest. "Listen. I know you want to go home. We want that more than anything. But right now, you're gonna do everything the doctor says. From recite the alphabet backwards to every last state capital if that's what he wants. Until they make sure you're okay."

"And then," Darry says with a soft smile. "And then you can go home, kiddo."

OoO

Thomas Mercer is pacing the hallway, his green eyes flashing. "Darrel, I'm sorry if I said something you didn't like in there but I really feel it's best—"

"Thomas, you can take your best and shove it."

"We're all on the same side. We just want Pony to be okay."

"He will be okay. He's fine with us."

"Upsetting him isn't going to do him—"

My hackles rise. "Don't you dare pull this bullshit. He's my brother. I'm his guardian. Look, I've tried to be patient. Ponyboy likes you. But when you keep getting involved in _our_ business I gotta cut you out."

I lower my voice as a nurse walks by, scowling at us. "There's no need for you to be involved anymore. Leave him alone."

"Like hell I will." The Cowboy draws himself up, arrogance replacing the concern. The same arrogance he had when he threatened to get the courts involved. "I don't suppose I need to remind you—"

"You've been reminding me long enough about that and this time it's done. No more of this shit."

I take a breath and turn away, not wanting to prove Ponyboy right by decking Thomas Mercer in the middle of the waiting room.

"If you think I'm going away without a fight, shit son, you got another thing coming."

I grit my jaw. It's been boiling inside for so long that when it comes, I don't stop myself. I turn around. "_You're not his father,_" I boom. "You got that?"

Slowly, I walk back to him, standing close. "Did you hear me?"

Face clouding with surprise, he blinks and then recovers. "We've been down this road before, Darry. You heard what the doctor said."

"It was a _chance_, Thomas. And I have it on pretty goddamn good authority that he most definitely is not yours."

"That's—"

"She was never pregnant by _you_. It's his birthday today. Cindy Mathews told me what happened. My mom was wrong when she told you she was pregnant. That October, you were in Denver. "

He draws back, his brain trying to do the math quick, and then says, "Bullshit."

"Call it bullshit if you want, but we're done here. We're done with this. Take me to court. I don't care. I'll win."

OoO

It's late when he sneaks in, the door cracking to a slit. I know it's him by the shape of his hat. I squint as he turns on the bedside lamp.

"Visiting hours are over," I croak, wincing at the sound of my own voice. Thomas Mercer gives me a weak smile. I wonder what Darry said to him.

"I know they are. I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? Where are you going?"

"Just back to the house. There're too many people here. I should let you get settled." He shrugs, settling on the edge of the bed. His hands flutter, like he wants to hug me but then he settles for crossing them against his chest. "I'll see you when you get out, right?"

"Sure you will," I say, struggling to sit up. "But— but are you okay?"

"Jesus, you're a good kid." This time he pats my cheek. "Get better, Pony. You had me worried. Real worried."

Thomas stands. "Get some sleep."

"I will," I say and he leaves, flicking off the light.

My hands fly up to grip the metal railings keeping me in bed. They stand out ghost white in the dark. There's something I should have told him. I just can't remember what.

OoO

"Who smuggled the cake in?"

Sheepishly I raise my hand. Darry tosses a long look my way – telling me he'll kill me if this gets our asses thrown out of Ponyboy's room. The doctor smiles.

"Don't worry. It's fine on my watch. Someone's birthday I take it?"

Darry clears his throat, shifting in the small hospital chair. "It's Ponyboy's."

"It was," Ponyboy amends. "I was asleep for most of it." Two-Bit blows a party horn. It emits a loud squeak. Ponyboy blushes, Steve scowls.

"Oh yes," the doctor says. "I remember reading that on your chart. 16 years old. Well, happy belated birthday, young man. You certainly deserve it."

Ponyboy blushes again, glances down at the top of the blanket. I give him a nudge; I'm practically crowding him on the bed. I can't let him go. "You didn't think you'd get out of your birthday that easily, did you?" I whisper, trying to coax a smile from him.

"Want a piece?" Two-Bit asks the doctor, gesturing to the cake. "It's like delicious bread. Only frosted. And chocolate."

"I'll take a rain check on that." The doctor raises fuzzy brows. Looks at me and Darry. "Can I talk to you both?"

Darry practically leaps out of the chair. I follow and the doctor talks low in a corner of the room.

The doctor launches into it. "Based on initial results your brother will be fine. He has a concussion, will get dizzy, but that will temper off. Right now I see more short term problems than long. Which is a good thing too considering your brother took a tree trunk to the face. He's got a hard head."

"You have no idea," Darry says, running a hand down his three-day-old beard.

"So…" I begin. "He's okay? The memory and all that?"

"It's short term. A day or so. It will return. Very soon – it'll come and he won't know what hit him." The doctor laughs, winces. "Sorry, phrasing." Darry looks annoyed but I don't mind. Someone's laughing at least.

The doc opens his chart, clicks his pen. "Easy on the stress and lots of rest. Should be simple."

"Right…" Steve's voice floats across the room. "Real simple with this kid."

OoO

Two day later I'm out of there. They made me work for it though. I had to do everything from walk a straight line to stare at dull flashcards. And Darry was right. I did have to recite the alphabet backwards. They sent me home with a ton of pills, medicine for water in the lungs, fever, and strict orders to rest.

I've had two concussions in two years. I'm a pro at this.

"God," Soda sighs as we walk through the front door. "I need a nap. Or a drink. Or both."

Darry takes my small bag full of dirty clothes, helps me inside. "You should go lie down, Ponyboy."

Deciding not to put up a fight and that the idea that a nap sounds really good right about now, I head to the bedroom. I crawl across my bed and flop down. Darry follows me back.

"You get some rest, you hear me?"

"I always hear you, Darry."

He cracks a smile, lounging in the doorway. "You need anything or—what?" He breaks off, seeing my face.

"What'd you say to him?"

"What?"

"What'd you say to the Cowboy in the hospital? He just left. He didn't come back either."

"I just told him something he should already know, is all."

Darry frowns under my stare. "Well hell, Ponyboy, since we're playing 20 questions, what were you doing at Thomas's that night? I told you to stay close to the house with the storm and all…and you go gallivanting around town, practically getting yourself—"

"Can we not do this now?" Soda asks, appearing behind Darry.

"I'm sorry," Darry says, sounding very not sorry. He looks at me. "I heard you were upset and—"

"I told you already, I told the doctor, I don't remember."

Soda shoots my brother a worried glance. "Dar, maybe we should te—"

"Not now Soda," Darry says sharply.

"Now now what? _What_?" I roll my eyes as Soda dips down to touch my cheek. I shake my head, sick of the fussing. I swear I was better off at the hospital. "Can you guys get outta here?"

Soda bites his lip ready to laugh but he holds it in.

"So what're you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Soda says.

"Look, don't worry about that. You heard the doctor. Get some rest." Darry's blue eyes flash. "It's nothing, kiddo."

I don't believe him. Darry can tell.

OoO

"_Goddamn it_."

"Darry…"

"Not yet, Soda."

"Okay, but when?"

"When he's better. We have to give him time."

"But Darry…"

It's hard on him. I can tell. Darry rubs his face. "He's sick. Upset. We can't just launch into this. At least not tonight." He raps his fist on the table. "Mercer won't do anything. I promise you, Sodapop."

"Okay." I take a breath, already knowing Darry's made up his mind, and that he's right. We've come so far, alienated each other, and now we're back.

OoO

The next morning Two-Bit's voice floats into the bedroom. "Oh shit, Pony don't—"

There's a loud splash and Soda's, "Steve, you son-of-a-bitch," and when I enter the room Ponyboy's drenched in water, Steve and Two-Bit standing in the kitchen, frozen.

A red plastic bucket rolls at my feet. "What in the hell happened?" I shout.

Steve's dark eyes are wide. "I swear to God Darry—"

My brother's near the coat closet, surprise etched on his face. Ponyboy sneezes. Water drips down his hair in a thick stream.

Mortified, Two-Bit says, "We uh, rigged that the day before the storm, before we knew what had happened and by then we forgot about the entire thing…"

"I hate you," Ponyboy says, looking miserable. "I hate you both."

Soda hands Pony a towel. "I'm going to kill you, Steve," he says, leading Pony away, towards the bathroom.

Steve sticks his hands out. "It was payback for the balloon ambush. Darry, I swear I didn't—"

I point at him. "I'm still gonna kill you, Steve."

OoO

"You okay, Ponyboy?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine."

I focus so the room doesn't spin.

The phone. The phone is what I'm staring at. Three days out of the hospital and he hasn't called. It's not that I want to hear from him…it's not. It's that I wonder why I haven't. And I wish I could remember.

Josie swivels around the house, making me dizzy. She dusts, she cleans, she makes lemonade. She's a good girl. I know why Darry likes her. He volunteered her to babysit me while he and Soda work and I almost feel bad for her.

I should be able to stay home alone but I know Darry's worried the Cowboy would find out and somehow use it as ammunition.

"It must be pretty boring around these parts," I tell her, stifling a cough that feels like it's been brewing for a lifetime.

Josie's smile is broad and toothy. "Never." She plops next to me on the couch, wraps a lanky arm around my shoulder. "I told Darry I'd keep his little brother company. You want to play hide and seek or something?"

I laugh, toss my book on the floor. "No thanks."

"I know. You're 16 now. An old man." Josie chuckles. "You're a cool kid, you know that don't you?"

"You ain't gotta watch me," I tell her. "You can go home."

She cocks a brow. "Right. Darry would flip."

"Darry flips at everything."

"I know." She presses a hand on my face, familiar-like. I remember Darry told me she has eight sisters. "He just loves you a lot."

I smile into my hand.

OoO

I see the first one. Rip the second envelope open. Tear through the third one. They're all paid. Every single hospital bill from Pony's stay has been marked PAID in a big, red stamp.

"You son-of-a-bitch," I swear, the papers crumpling in my hand.

"What is it?" Darry asks, entering the kitchen.

I show him. Instantly his face turns red. "He's still doing this," Darry growls. "Still can't back off."

It's a good thing – a lucky thing – that the bills are paid because Darry and I really couldn't afford them; but Thomas Mercer paying our way isn't something we want. We've never had anyone do it and we don't want it to start now.

"Dar, what're we going to do? I mean, shit, this guy won't back off."

"Nothing," he says, confident. "We don't do a thing Sodapop. We keep Pony away from him and if he comes after us we let him hang."

OoO

The phone rings and it's grabbed up quick. Five minutes later, Ponyboy sticks his head into my bedroom.

"Dar?"

"What kiddo?"

"Thomas wants to pick me and take me to go get something to eat."

I sigh, forget about the clothes needing to be folded. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"C'mon, I'll be quick."

"Ponyboy, you know I don't like it that—"

"That what? That I like him? I know you don't Darry, but does that mean that everything you don't like I can't like?" And then in a small voice, Pony says, "I'm sorry. I tried not to."

The point he makes slaps me in the face. It's a good one. One I don't want to accept at the moment. Pony stands in the doorway, skinny and stubborn, his arms crossed against his chest, his green eyes dull.

I wave a frustrated hand. "If you want to go, go. But you be home at seven on the dot, Ponyboy. You still aren't looking so good. I mean it," I say when he nods. "Don't make me come and find you."

"I won't, I will, Darry." He throws me a grateful smile as he leaves. I wish to hell Cindy Mathews could find those letters.

OoO

"You never called." I hate the way the sentence comes out: hurt, accusatory. I don't want to admit I'm any of those things, instead merely curious.

"Sorry kid, the days just kept getting away from me. I wanted to give you some time alone, so you could rest up and such." He peers close. "You got some more color in your face than the last time I saw you."

I push the sandwich around on my plate. "I don't think your brothers like me very much," the Cowboy says. "Keep telling me to stay away when they know I can't do it." He laughs like I'm supposed to agree with him.

"Say Ponyboy, you got enough help at that house? Someone staying with you while you're getting better?" I feel frozen, the conversation striking me as awkward, as the Cowboy continues to pry. "Because if not Rita would be more than happy to. She knows…"

I tune him out. Blackness clouds my vision, the vaguest memory: _"…I knew too. Only I'm a coward. A fool. I tried to protect him…"_

"We're good," I finally say. "We can do it ourselves. Thanks though. Really."

He shrugs: no problem and then grins a big grin. "I almost forgot." Then his long fingers are sliding a white envelope across the table.

Letters, I instantly think, and am unsure why. But when I press a hand on it, it's soft. "What's this?"

"Your birthday present. You didn't think I forgot did you?" He takes a sip of dark coffee. "Go on. Open it."

I do. It's cash. Five hundred dollars. I look up at him, my head swimming. "What is this?"

"It's for you. Your after-high-school fund." His lips turn up. "Now I won't say college, but god knows your smart enough…or if you just want to travel, see the world. Wait a few years before you go back to school. Whatever you want to do with it, you can."

I stick the money back in the envelope. Thomas looks surprised when I slide it back to him. "I think this is what they mean. You shouldn't do things like this."

"Like what?"

"Like _this_," I say. "My brothers, when they say you keep—keep butting in. You may not mean to but this is like showing Darry that you can do this and he can't."

I don't want the money. I don't want the advice about college, about my future. Darry and Soda work so hard, it would be like a slap in the face. Plus, I'm beginning to see what Darry has always been trying to tell me. The money, the advice; both are just ways for the Cowboy to have the upper hand, control. Maybe he doesn't see it, but I do.

Hurt flickers across his face. "I can't take it," I say. I pick up a fry, set it back down again. "I just can't."

We eat the rest of the meal in silence.

OoO

I don't tell Darry about the money. It'd hurt him too bad. Instead I go home, seven on the dot, and take my medicine. Huge pills for the headaches and dizziness. I swallow them down with a large glass of water but still feel sick.

Darry's on the phone with Josie, Soda out with Steve. It'd be normal if it all weren't so overwhelming. I feel like I'm still stuck in that pond, drowning, trying to find something I can't pull out of thin air. I keep turning the phrase over in my mind, _"…I knew too. Only I'm a coward. A fool. I tried to protect him…"_

I hear Rita's voice but I don't know what it means.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. So appreciated. And sorry for the delay in posting. More to come soon…the wrap-up. Dunh DUNHHH._

_Please read and review._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	18. Setting Sun

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns the Outsiders._

OoO

I can't help asking, just to make sure. "Are you feeling all right, Pony?"

The couch cushions are overturned, contents of the coffee table erupted into small piles on the ground. Pony, on hands and knees, digging under the couch, sits up, cheeks flushed. There's a white notepad next to his knee.

He does the almost crooked-smile thing again, but there's a glint in his eyes telling me he'll kill me if I keep asking. "Soda, I'm fine. Are you?"

"Sure I am kiddo." I stand over him, toe his leg. "What're you looking for?"

He frowns, pats his pockets. "I think…" Pony begins, "I think I lost mom's lighter. I think it's in the pond. It fell out when I went it." He looks up at me, his green eyes big. "I have to go get it, Soda. I have to find it."

"No." I sit on top of the coffee table. "I don't want you taking anymore swims in that pond." I give him a grin as he rolls his eyes. "I'll find it, Pone. Don't worry."

"Soon, Soda."

"Okay, soon. I promise."

"Hey, Soda," he asks. "Do you know who a Helen Hayley is?"

I squint at the notepad Pony's holding out to me. A name and a number scribbled. "Old girlfriend?"

He blushes. "No, I think I'd remember that." He checks out the notepad, his eyes growing distant. I watch him close. I swear to god the kid has more stuff on his mind than most people.

"It had to have been…Never mind." Ponyboy shakes his head. "I'll figure it out."

I ruffle his hair and laugh. "Kiddo, I have no doubt you will."

OoO

The next day I remember.

Just the basics, not the details, but slowly it's coming back. Helen Hayley…the ex-wife of Thomas Mercer. Something to do with kids and my mom.

I shrug my jacket on. Take my medicine to chase away the headache. Too tired and sore to walk, I decide I need to find Two-Bit. Have him give me a ride over to Helen's house.

OoO

"Darrel!" my boss shouts. He waves a phone at me. "You gotta call!"

"I'll be right there!" I shout back. I place bets with myself that it's Ponyboy. Hope nothing's wrong at the house.

"Hello?" I'm asking when I finally pick up the phone. I press it tight against my ear to drown out the sounds of the work trucks driving by. "Pony?"

"Darry? No. It's me. Cindy Mathews." She sounds excited. "I found a letter."

"I'll be right there."

OoO

"Oh come in, come in Ponyboy."

Mrs. Mathews bustles around as I step inside, shutting the door. I haven't seen her since the birthday party and today she's all smiles. She's looking better too. Two-Bit told me the medication she was on had been helping.

"I'm so glad to see you up and around. Everyone was so worried," she says, wiping soapy hands on her apron. "Did Darry send you for the letter? I know he was at work so it must have been easier this way. Now I only have one but I wanted him to see it." She grins. "I'm sure you want to as well."

"No, I was here for Two—"

I trail off as Cindy Mathews pulls a white envelope from a drawer. Instinctively, I hold my hand out. She hands it to me and I open it. It smells like dust from years ago, the paper crinkled and worn, my mother's familiar cursive. As I read, my headache intensifies, words blurring and swimming in my vision.

And that's when it all comes back. As quick as my stomach drops into my feet, I remember. I remember meeting Helen Hayley, my interrupted talk with the Cowboy, Rita's visit in the hospital. What she had said. _What she knows_.

"Darry knew?" I ask, licking dry lips. "He knew about this?"

"Of course he did. I told him I'd—" She cuts off, presses a hand to her heart. "Oh. Oh my. Ponyboy, he didn't—"

"No. He didn't."

I drop the letter on the floor and go.

OoO

Idling at a stoplight I see a familiar face. "Want a lift?" I reach across the seat and crack the passenger door. Two-Bit climbs in, arms full of beer. He sets the paper sack between us. Pops a can open.

The light turns green. "Where's your ride?"

"Ol' Karen took it out. It's my day off anyway, don't really need it."

"How's your ma?"

"She's good. Doc gave her some medication for her brain. It's kind of scrambled up there." He smiles good-naturedly. "Guess that explains why Karen's so nuts."

I raise an eyebrow. "Or her brother."

"Me? I'm the impossible dream, the saint in sheep's clothing." Two-Bit stretches out in the cab, taking a sip of his beer, and then smiles. "What about you Superman? Playing hooky today? You want a beer?"

"I'm actually on the way to your house."

"What? You and my mom got a thing going on now?"

I chuckle, give him a look. "She found a letter."

Two-Bit sits up straight. "No shit?" He scratches a long sideburn. "So does this mean you're gonna tell the kid now? Stop being a chicken shit?"

"Soda told you about that huh?"

"Oh yeah."

"You're right though," I tell him. "I am chicken shit. I just wanted to know for sure. I wanted proof."

"Looks like you're gonna get it, Dar."

"I sure as hell hope so."

OoO

I stumble into the nearest pay phone booth. _It was Rita. She knew. She knows the rest. _I dial the DX and Steve answers.

"Steve. I need to talk to Soda."

"He ain't here, kid. He's picking up a part out in Auburn."

I rest my face against the cool glass. I say numbly, "I really need to talk to him. I need a ride."

"This ain't a goddamn chauffeur service," Steve snaps. "What're you doin' running around town anyway?" There's a long pause and then he asks, "Ponyboy are you okay?"

I realize I'm breathing hard. I glance up and someone's tapping on the glass, motioning for me to hurry-it-up. "I need to go to the Cowboy's. It's important."

Steve curses darkly. "Hang on, I'll come get you."

OoO

Cindy Mathews is already on the porch when Two-Bit and I show up. "Now what?" Two-Bit groans, climbing out as I cut the engine.

"Ma, you okay?" he asks as we head toward the house.

She looks at me instead. "Darry, I think I told Ponyboy something I shouldn't have."

Two-Bit's eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa, what? The kid was here?"

"He came by looking for you Keith but instead—"

"What happened, Cindy?" I interrupt urgently.

"I thought he knew and I—I showed him this." She unveils a letter.

"Oh, ma," Two-Bit says. "You didn't."

More gently than I feel at the moment I take the letter from her and read. It's what I wanted. Real proof. Sold fact. And yet it's still bad. Because Ponyboy knows and I didn't get to talk to him first.

"Do you know where he went?"

"I'm sorry," she says, her eyes welling up. "I don't know. He just left."

I swear. "I gotta go find him."

"I'm coming with you," Two-Bit says, following me down the steps. "Shit, I'm sorry about this, Dar," He sounds upset. "Real goddamn sorry."

"Let's just find him."

I set the letter on the dash. I start the truck, my knuckles white against the wheel.

OoO

"Darry's gonna brain you," Steve says pulling into the gravel driveway. "You know they don't want you running around town and now this place." _This place_ comes out dripping in disgust.

"What's got you so worked up?" he asks. "You barely said a word on the way over."

"I just need to talk to the Cowboy. I'll be right back."

"Make it fast, kid," Steve warns as I get out.

OoO

I go straight inside. The house is empty. Not even Goosey's around.

They're in Rita's purse.

It comes instinctively – I remember the snap of the metal clip in my hospital room, the rustling of the papers – and I go for it.

OoO

I don't look up when she enters. "Oh _mijo_."

"You knew?" I glance up. I sit frozen near the fireplace, on top of the worn rug, the only light in the house coming from the table lamp. I don't think I can move. I can't believe this.

Rita covers her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

I grip the letters. There're four total. All written by my mother. Freeing, truthful words so I don't know why reading them hurts so much.

"Does the Cowboy know?"

"No, _mijo_. He does not."

"You kept this? This long?"

"I meant all the goodness in the world. I did not want any harm to come."

Finally, on shaky legs, I pull myself up. I shove the letters at her, like they're a microphone. "Why? Why would you do this? All these years and you let him believe…"

Rita's face is contorted into a sad frown. "He adored you. He never got over Lara. You gave him hope. I love my _Tomas_. I kept what he wanted alive." She twists her hands together. "I took the letters, and I hid them, yes. I did what I thought was right."

"It _wasn't_ right." Desperation claws somewhere inside. How wrong everything is right now. Adults making mistakes, hiding things, hurting others.

"I know."

A slow boil of anger begins. One I've been trying to tamp down since I met Thomas Mercer. I take a step forward. Rita stands her ground.

"So it's fine then? My mom screwed around, lied about it and you—"

She slaps me across the face. A harsh, stinging crack. I touch my cheek. The inside of my mouth waters.

"I'm sorry, _mijo_. But I will not have you speak ill of your mother. I am the liar. I am not proud of this."

This time, I see red – betrayal, hurt, anger, fear –it all rushes through me like a freight train until I'm suddenly shouting. "I can't believe you! You lied to Thomas, to me and my brothers for six months and we're supposed to forget about it? You tried to wreck our family…let me think he was _really_ my father…"

My words come out in short puffs, and I'm finding it hard to breathe. "You lied. You would have kept lying too – you only told me because…because you thought I was—I was—"

Rita's voice comes out low and choked. "I never would have forgiven myself if you died."

The fight goes out, my shoulders sagging. "Guess you're off the hook then."

"No. No _mijo_…I never…"

My eyes widen as Thomas Mercer appears behind Rita's shoulder. She watches me for a moment, watches my face change to surprise, then spins around and utters a small moan.

"_Tomas_…"

I stand frozen. Thomas is nearly unrecognizable, his face screwed into a mess of disbelief. A prickling sensation creeps its way down my spine. I feel sick. I am sick.

"Get out of here, Ponyboy." His tone is flat, just like his eyes. "Get out of here now."

I take the letters.

OoO

Steve's halfway out of his truck when I barrel out. "Jesus, kid—"

I bypass him. "The Cowboy," I say, climbing inside. I throw the letters onto the floor. "He ain't my dad." I wipe my wet, stinging face.

Steve doesn't say a thing.

OoO

The front door flies open and the instant Ponyboy appears, Darry's face pales. He knows he's in for it. Ponyboy looks ready to fight. Darry meets him in the living room, some sort of standoff.

"You knew," Ponyboy says, the first thing out of his mouth. He looks direct at Darry, eyes bright. Furious. There's a red mark across his right cheek like a slash, white papers in his hands.

Steve slinks in behind him, meets me in the kitchen. "Kid's gonna explode," is all he says before joining a wide-eyed Two-Bit at the table.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"I've been looking for you, Pone," Darry's saying. He's got his fists shoved into his pockets, an already-tired look in his eyes.

"I bet you have." As soon as I move into the living room, Ponyboy goes to me. "Soda, you gotta read these, you have to see these…"

I put a hand on his shoulder, ready to tell him I already know about the letter Darry has, when both Darry and I simultaneously realize something: Pony has four letters of his own.

"Where'd you get those?" Darry asks, confused.

"I remembered," Ponyboy says, defiant, like Darry's just dared him to run a lap backwards. "I remembered what happened before the accident."

"He called me at the DX," Steve says tiredly. "I took him up to the Cowboy's place. Didn't know this is what he was hunting down though or else I would've hog-tied him and tossed him in the bed of my truck."

"Rita had them," Pony says. He blinks fast, swallows. "She knew the whole time. Ever since I was born."

"Oh, shit," Two-Bit's stunned voice floats out from the kitchen. I shoot Darry an astonished look: _so that's where they were_.

"And you knew too," Pony says, his voice cracking, his gaze moving to our oldest brother. "Why didn't you tell me, Dar? Why? You could have told me. I deserved to know."

"I was trying to be sure, Ponyboy. Damn sure. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. Yours especially."

"How long did you know?"

"A month." Darry puts a hand out as Ponyboy flinches. "I was going to tell you the night of the storm, kiddo. And then you were in the hospital; you're sick, we didn't want—"

"We?" Ponyboy draws back. Eyes me. "_You_ knew too?"

"I did," I say, trying to save Darry. "We both did. I'm sorry, Pone but—"

I break off, shocked as he covers his eyes, his face. "Kiddo…" Moving close, I try to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders but he jerks away.

He looks at Darry, dead-on. "I'll never trust you again."

Darry's jaw jumps, tightens. He says, "Ponyboy, listen," and takes a step towards our brother.

"I don't want to talk to you," Ponyboy says weakly. He wipes his eyes. Gives me a glare. "Either of you." He storms out of the living room. The bedroom door slams. A photo falls off the wall and shatters.

Darry raises his face to the ceiling, letting out a soft swear. Two-Bit's eyes are on the ground. Steve says, "Now that's a show you pay money to watch."

"Fuck off, Steve," I snap. I don't know what I expected. I knew he'd be upset, but not this. Christ.

Darry sits in the recliner, resting his palms on the knees of his jeans. "It's gonna take a lot," he says wearily, "for him to get over this."

OoO

_Dear Thomas,_

_This is hard to write. Once the doctor told me, I just knew. The baby isn't yours. I never was pregnant by you. And I'm sorry I'm telling you in a letter, but I told myself I'd never see you again. For Darrel. For what we still have._

_It's my fault. You've been a good man. I don't expect you to understand, but please respect my wishes to stay away._

_Forgive me._

_Lara_

I fold this up. Hand it to Sodapop. Pick the next one.

_Dear Thomas,_

_I never heard back from you. I see you driving by the house late at night. Did you get my letter? The baby – Ponyboy (yes, his father named him) was never yours. I'm sorry for this, but you should know how happy I am. _

_I'm happy. Wonderfully happy._

_Lara_

Soda's silent the entire time, which is odd considering he can't sit still reading a magazine. His eyes are dark. He holds his hand out and we trade letters.

_Thomas,_

_I want to _know_ you know this. I've written you letters and still no response. This cannot go on. I know you left the money on the porch. I'm sending it back. I don't want it. It shouldn't be yours to give anyway, because Ponyboy is not your son._

_Write back. I'm worried._

_Tell me you know._

_L. Curtis_

Soda makes a noise in the back of his throat. I open the last letter and read it.

_Thomas,_

_I heard from Helen Fowler that you're leaving town. Headed overseas or someplace far away. Someplace I'll never go. But I like this town so it doesn't matter much. _

_I can't say I'm sorry that you're leaving. I wish it had been sooner. But thank you for our time together. It shouldn't have been but I'll never forget it. I'll never forgive myself either. I never should have told you about the baby, got your hopes up. I am a fool._

_I'm sorry about everything. I still worry though. Worry that you think he's yours. Maybe I haven't heard from you because you hate me. I understand. _

_I just want to know that you know._

_Please. I don't want this hanging over our heads. _

_Love,_

_Lara_

I let out a breath. Soda looks as relieved as I've ever seen him. _He's ours_, his face says. _Ours_.

OoO

I read the letter Darry brought home.

_Cindy,_

_I'm putting this in a letter. In writing. I want you to know just in case he doesn't. Ponyboy, my sweet, darling baby, is not Thomas's. I know I've told you the story—our story, what the doctor said – but this is for you to have and keep. I don't know why, maybe I'm being silly._

_Thank you, thank you my friend, for your help during this time. I didn't know where else to turn. I can always count on you._

_With love,_

_Lara._

I start to crumple it in my hand but then stop. Instead, I throw it to the ground. I lie on my bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. Darry knew. They both knew. I knew and forgot. Wishful thinking or defense mechanism, either way it still hurts.

Thomas Mercer's shocked face keeps running through my mind. It makes me sick.

My chest has lead weights in it. I've wanted this for so long, to be sure, to not have any questions, but now that the answers are here I'm not anything. I don't know how to feel.

OoO

_As always, pardon any typos._

_Thank you for the reviews. Thank you for reading! I love them both. Keep it up._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	19. Pedal to the Floor

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns the Outsiders. Uh, probably a cliffhanger. I warned you._

Pedal to the Floor

OoO

He's buried underneath the covers when I get up the next morning. So far buried I can't tell if he's asleep or waiting for me to leave. I had gone to bed late last night after reading the letters and had found the one from Cindy Mathew's tossed on the floor.

I change, tug my DX cap on and then sit beside him. I shake his shoulder. "Kiddo, I want to talk to you."

Silence.

"I know you're mad at us," I say. "I don't blame you. But Ponyboy, we only thought we were doing the right thing. Darry and I, well, we ain't got any rules for this. I'm sorry we kept it from you. We didn't want you to find out like this."

There's a muffled, "I know," and then with a groan, Pony shows his face. I smooth his messy hair back. He bites his lip. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Hey," I say, grinning. "I've been called worse."

He cocks a brow. "Yeah. I bet."

His right cheek is still pink. I touch it. "What happened here?"

"Nothing."

I put on the tough guy act. "If you don't tell me now, you'll tell me later. Take your choice."

With a sigh he sits up, shoving the blankets into a pile. "It ain't a big deal…stop pushing, Sodapop."

My jaw tightens. "Did something happen up at the house…? Did Thomas—"

"No!"

"Ponyboy..."

"I said something I shouldn't have…Rita, she…well…you know…she was upset. We both were…" Pony trails off, his face tired. "Don't tell Darry."

_Goddamn her_, I think, burning inside. I shake my head. "You know I have to."

"But Soda—"

"She shouldn't have done that Ponyboy. It's no excuse." I squeeze his shoulder, worried about him. "We'll be okay, kiddo."

He just nods.

OoO

"I want to talk to you."

Pony's back bristles. He walks past me and goes to the fridge. He's wearing his running shoes, sweat on his brow, making me think he's been at the track all day blowing off steam. He grabs a Pepsi and shuts the door.

"Well, I don't want to talk to you."

Soda stops stirring the mashed potatoes we're having for dinner. A bottle of food coloring sits next to the stove. Green or blue, we'll find out soon enough.

I take a breath, try to stay calm. He's upset. It's understandable. "Soda told me about what happened at that house with Rita and I—"

Hurt, Pony frowns, says, "Of course he did. Because you two tell each other everything and no one wants to tell me anything."

I rub my eyes. I've carried more bundles of roofing today than I can count and it's already easier than talking to my youngest brother. "Damn it, Ponyboy, would you just listen to me?" I try to grab his arm and he pulls out of my grasp.

"Don't touch me," he says, his face going white, before he storms out of the room.

OoO

I'm being stubborn, I know that. Trying to hurt my brother's like they've hurt me. But I can't do it anymore. I don't agree with them but they were just trying to help.

I crawl out of bed, ready to go find Darry and apologize.

Steve's right; I've always been a brat.

OoO

I've tried calling Thomas Mercer all night. There's no answer. Good. Good riddance.

I'm in the recliner, letting myself sip a hard drink, still spitting fire over what Rita did, when he appears. It's late and he's in pajama pants and bare feet, his hair mussed.

"I'm sorry," Ponyboy whispers. "I shouldn't have acted like that."

I straighten the chair up. "It's my fault. I should've told you." I watch as he moves to sit on the couch, as close as we can get. "It's a lot to take in. I know you're upset."

He sticks his hands between his knees. "Do you want some dinner?" I ask. Pony shakes his head. I run a hand down my jaw. "You read the letters?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I did. I'm glad, Ponyboy. I'm real glad we know."

"I know, Darry. Me too." He coughs once into his hand. "So…what's going to happen now?"

With that question I see what he wants. It's on his face; Ponyboy wearing his emotions so open, something I've never been able to do. It relieves me that my youngest brother is so readable. But it also scares me something awful.

"Pony," I tell him. "It's okay. If you want to go see him, that's okay."

He looks confused, ready to cry. "But how come—"

"Because he isn't a threat. He can't take you away. That's why kiddo."

"Oh." He stands.

"Pony…" I rub my hands on my jeans, knowing I'm going to sound so much like our father right about now. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't think so," he says, a smile on his lips. "I think I get it."

OoO

A few more days pass and there's no word. No phone calls, not even a letter. I almost laugh at the thought.

My dad is my dad. I'm grateful. Relieved

Darry was right. Life does go back to normal. Except it's still odd for me. My brothers do their usual –work, worry. I could be working too but that's at the Cowboy's.

I miss him. I admit it. For nearly six months he was in my life and now he'll always be there, a memory I can't forget. Maybe it's stupid of me, but I can't help wondering if he's having an easy time forgetting me. Because he hasn't reached out, and that kind of hurts.

OoO

"You want to tell me what you're doing in my backyard?"

Sitting on the bank, I tug my last boot on. Stick my DX cap on top of my wet hair. Thomas Mercer looks like shit. His eyes are bright red, there's a hell of a beard on his face, and a beer in his hand.

Grabbing the towel I brought along, I stand. "Came to get Ponyboy's lighter. It fell out of his pocket. No luck though."

I hate that I have to tell my brother this. But the pond was too murky and too big. I just couldn't find it. I'll admit, it was hard to come back here, where we nearly lost Ponyboy.

"Don't worry," I say, passing him by. "I won't be back." I can't help the smirk that crosses my face.

I'm about five feet away when The Cowboy says, "Guess you're pretty happy, ain't ya, kid? Got what you wanted. What you always wanted…"

"You know what?" I stop, walk back to him. "I _am_ pretty goddamn happy. I'm happy that we don't have to deal with your shit anymore."

"I don't blame you," he says with a gruff laugh before I realize he's probably on his way to a pretty good buzz. He reeks of alcohol.

"I don't blame you one bit." Thomas Mercer takes a swig of his beer, points it at me like he's going to make a toast. "Get the hell off my property."

OoO

"Did you find it?"

"I didn't. I'm sorry, kiddo."

It kills me when his face falls, that look of hope vanishing. He turns back to making dinner. Sandwiches and soup.

"Did he—" Pony begins, "did he say anything about me?" He turns around when I don't say anything. "Well? Did he?"

"He didn't, Pone."

Pony nods once, coughs and places both hands on top of the counter like he's steadying himself.

I can't deny the irony of the situation. We've fought so long and hard, and now that Thomas Mercer should be out of our life once and for all, all I want him to do is to call my brother. Call Ponyboy and give the poor kid some peace of mind.

I can't be happy because my brother isn't.

OoO

"Taste."

Josie holds out a spoon and I lean in.

"Mmm, it's good."

"Liar." She swats me in the stomach with a spatula as I laugh. "I'm still making dinner for everyone, Darry Curtis. I'll make it and they'll like it."

"If they eat Soda's cooking," I say, leaning in the doorway. "They'll eat yours."

She grabs an apron, gives me the finger.

OoO

The house is loud. Darry and Josie's idea to have everyone over for a BBQ. My brothers trying to take my mind off of what happened only a week ago. But I can't help it. I still think about the Cowboy. It's like losing a second father-figure. And I know I should focus on myself but I wonder how he is. If he's hurt, angry, upset; or if he's fine with it.

Relieved, even.

The house is also hot. I fan my face; go out on the porch to have a smoke. There's a loud crash from inside, Soda's laughter and then Steve's sharp swearing.

They won't miss me for half an hour. I check my pockets for change for the bus and then I take off across the lawn.

OoO

"I think your brother just left," Josie announces, coming back from the living room.

"Aw, hell," Soda says, laying his cards down. I haven't seen him play a hand of poker in the house since the whole Budweiser fiasco. Steve looks up with dark eyes.

"He tends to do that," I tell her.

"Maybe he just went for a walk and a smoke," Soda says.

I give him a doubtful glance. "You know as well as I do where he went."

"Shit," Soda swears. "We need to chain that kid to the back porch."

"That'll take some explaining if the State comes around," Steve says, eyeing his cards.

Groaning, I open the fridge. Shut it.

I know this is something Pony needs to do but I can't shake the feeling that he's pushing. Trying to take care of everyone else except himself. Hiding because he's worried about me, Soda, the Cowboy—we haven't made it easy on him.

"If he's not back for dinner we'll go and get him."

Josie checks her watch.

Steve stands, mumbles something and then disappears into the hallway. Two minutes later the screen door ricochets shut.

OoO

"Thomas?" I shout. Stick a hand out as Goosey barrels towards me. I dip, scratching her furry face, resting my own against it. "Glory, I missed you," I tell her. She lets me hold onto her as I stand.

It was when I was on my way up here that I began to feel funny. Off somehow. The cough and the headaches and the dizziness I've been having lately all swirling into something I know will only end badly. But right now I don't care.

"Thomas?" I ask again, moving into the dimly lit living room. I kick a load of beer cans out of the way, spying the Cowboy in the leather chair. I turn on another light and he winces. He's grizzled and looks like he hasn't slept in days.

I wonder how long he's been like this.

"Shut that thing off," he snaps and I do. He eyes me close, suspicious-like. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." I wipe my sweaty brow. Try to stand straight. I cough and my throat's on fire.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see you. I was worried about you."

"Good news is you ain't gotta worry about me. Worry about yourself. You ain't gotta care."

"I still care." I want him to shout, to scream, anything other than sitting in that chair staring blankly at me.

"Bullshit. It's all bullshit." He lifts his hand, a glass of amber colored liquid enclosed. Takes a swig.

"No, it ain't."

"Yes, it is."

He's got his cowboy hat pulled tight and low. I can't see his eyes. He sits up and throws his drink on top of Goosey's back. The Labrador lets out a surprised yelp and cowers low, near my legs.

"None of this would have happened if it weren't for this stupid dog. If you hadn't got hurt. I should drive her up to Winston and leave her in the junkyard."

"Don't say that." I squat next to Goosey, the beer soaking her fur. I feel her shake. Feel myself.

"Why not? It's true. She's good for nothin'. You both are."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Don't."

"I do. Your mama screwed me, kid. Get over it." He nods, as if deciding something. "You need to leave, Ponyboy."

I stand. "I'm not gonna leave. I want to talk—"

"Why talk?" he yells. He removes his hat and his eyes are still so much like mine. "It doesn't matter. You're not my son. It doesn't matter anymore."

"You're drunk." My eyes begin to burn. The room spins. "I know…I know I'm not your son. My mom was wrong but I still—I thought—"

"That what? That we could be _friends_?" He scoffs. "Don't you understand kid? I don't want nothing to do with you."

"Thomas—"

He throws his glass across the room. It hits the wall and shatters. I jump, take a step backward. I've never seen him this mean.

"Listen! I never did and I still don't want you! Do you got that? _I don't want you_. You were just a waste of my time. Get out of here Ponyboy. Just get the hell out."

Shaken, I grab his car keys off the table as I fly out of the house.

OoO

I'm in the Corvette, shakily trying to stick the keys in the ignition when the passenger door opens and Steve hops in. I gawk at him.

"Oh no, you don't, you little shit."

"Screw you, Steve."

He tries to grab the keys but I shoot him a quick elbow in the ribs. I jam the keys, gun the engine and peel away from Thomas Mercer's house.

I get about a mile before I start crying.

OoO

"Darry?" Josie's holding out the phone. She looks worried. "It's some drunk guy."

I grab it up, eyeing the clock. It's nearing six. "Two-Bit, you're late. I ain't in the mood for—"

"It's Thomas," a slurred, yet harried voice says. "I did something, said something I shouldn't have. Jesus, Darry, what'd I do..."

"Whoa, whoa." Putting up with a drunken Thomas Mercer is not something I want to do right now. "What's going on? What happened?"

"I told Ponyboy something I shouldn't have. I was wrong, so's he..."

I gesture at Soda who's headed down the hallway. He stops and makes a beeline for me. "What'd you say, Thomas? What'd you tell him?"

"I told him I never wanted him," he chokes out. "That he was a waste of time and good riddance."

"You goddamn asshole."

"He took my car, Darrel. He didn't look good."

I hang up on him and grab Sodapop.

OoO

"You gotta slow down, kid." Steve bangs both hands on the dash. "You gotta slow down right now."

The dial on the speedometer nears 100. The old country back roads are curvy and twisted. I drive fast toward the horizon, toward the setting sun, an orange ball dropping. I just keep thinking – _he never cared, he never cared, he never cared…_

Steve leans forward. "Please, kid, Jesus Christ. I don't want to be in another car accident."

I don't know where I'm going. I just need to escape, to drive and get the hell away from Thomas Mercer and this mess that's been my life.

"I'll pull over," I tell Steve. "You can get out."

"No way in hell." He locks his door, pulls his seatbelt on.

I wipe my eyes. "What're you doing here, Steve?"

"Figured it was up to someone to bring you home," he snaps. "You want to tell me what that prick said to you so the next time I see him I can kick his teeth in?"

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have gotten attached. I shouldn't have liked him. I should have stayed away and…" I shake my head.

"Damn it, no it ain't," he says, shooting me a dark glance. "Shit Pony, that's Dally talking if I ever heard it and you know as well as I do that Dallas Winston never— Christ almighty!" he swears, "_Slow it down!_"

Steve shifts in his seat, scowling, as I let up on the gas.

"Dally never got anywhere by not caring. Hell, we both saw it firsthand, Ponyboy." Steve's face contorts into a pained grimace at the memory. "So listen, when I say it ain't your fault, it ain't your fault. You've been through a lot."

I give him a suspicious glare. "Why're you being nice to me?"

"I'm not. Christ, I'm just trying to be fuckin honest."

I swerve around a sharp bend and this time Steve lets out an excited shout. "Shit, Ponyboy, you took that like a pro!"

OoO

We're about 20 minutes into the drive before the world starts swaying before my eyes. "Whoa!" Steve grips the wheel as the car swerves onto the shoulder and rights it back on the road. "You okay, kid?"

"I feel sick," I say. Headlights are passing me by in white blurs. I tighten my grip on the wheel. "You think it's hot in here?"

Steve's voice turns soft as I start coughing. "Cool it, Ponyboy, slow it down."

OoO

"Darry!" I holler as the red Corvette pulls up to the curb. My older brother nearly flies through the screen door before remembering to open it. Two-Bit, who's arrived right after the phone call, and Josie follow us down the porch.

I'm already at the car. Steve's in the passenger seat, Pony in the driver's. "Hey Sodapop," Steve says. "Fancy meeting you here."

He lifts a dark brow, tilting his head ever so slightly to my brother to tell me something's wrong. My eyes move to Pony, his hands still on the wheel. "Hey Pony. Stole a car tonight, huh? I'm proud of you."

Pony's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Soda, I don't feel good."

"I know you don't kiddo."

Steve cracks his door and I'm moving around to the other side. I reach through the rolled-down window and touch my brother's flushed face. He's hot enough to fucking cook off of.

"Come on," I say. "Come on out."

Slowly, very slowly, Ponyboy does. He stands for maybe a full five seconds before collapsing completely. Josie's scream shatters the muggy summer air.

OoO

_As always, pardon any typos._

_Thank you for the reviews. Thank you for reading! I love them both. Keep it up. _

_Eeee, last chapter soon._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	20. Loved One

_SE Hinton owns. Pardon typos. Last chapter and a long one. Please, oh please, enjoy._

Loved One

OoO

Darry has mellowed some but today the _some's_ an understatement. He screams at the nurses and the doctors for not catching the infection that's lingered with Ponyboy ever since he was released. Slowly it's been building and no one's saw it until now.

When Darry finds me in the hall his voice is hoarse. He sinks into a chair and doesn't talk to anyone until the doctor takes us back to see our brother.

Pony's admitted for 24 hours. He sleeps through most of it. They lower his temperature; treat him for exhaustion and dehydration. They shoot him up with medication and send him back home with us.

OoO

"You got it?"

"I got it."

Finally, I manage to steady my hand and light my smoke. Steve sits on the steps of the back porch as I pace the lawn. "He's okay, Soda."

I run a hand across my forehead, breathe out smoke. "Yeah, I know. I know."

Josie's shadow floats pass the window; she and Darry are up keeping watch. I told Darry he'd better hang onto this one – especially if she came back after what happened last night. I never heard a girl shriek so loud when my little brother hit the pavement.

"Thanks," I say to Steve. He waves it away.

"Thanks," I repeat, needing to say it to my best friend. "For being there. For following him. If you hadn't…well…shit…" I toss my dead cigarette into the bushes, the possibilities too much for words. "I owe you, man."

"You don't owe me nothing, Sodapop." He grins. "Don't tell the kid though. I don't want him getting any ideas."

OoO

I slip in the room when he's asleep. Or so I think. Pony's green eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. "Soda," he says. He gives me that crooked smile and I begin to breathe easier. Almost.

"You scared me something awful."

"I know," he says, "I drove like crap." He cracks another weak smile.

"Not that, kiddo." I give a quiet chuckle and plop next to him on the bed. And because I need to know, because it's been weighing on me since Steve told me something had happened, because I'm a son-of-a-bitch, I ask, "What'd he say to you?"

He looks at me. Looks at the ceiling. And when Ponyboy tells me, in his quiet whisper, I've never been so mad in my life.

OoO

The next morning, he's there. I nearly slam the door in his face. Thomas Mercer sticks his boot in the door, propping it open.

"Mercer—" I growl.

"I heard about Ponyboy. Jesus, Darry, how is he?"

He's looking rough – although we could be tied for the _who's-slept-the-least_ award. "Here," I say, digging into my pockets. "Here're your keys. Take them and take your car."

The Corvette's been on our curb for the last two days. Two-Bit keeps saying he'll auction it off to the first person in the neighborhood who wants it, and I don't blame him. In fact, I want to take a baseball bat to it.

The Cowboy stares at the keys. "That's not what I came for."

"Well, that's all you're gonna get."

"Darry," The Cowboy opens his hands, an awkward plea. "I never meant to hurt him…say the shit that I did. I was drunk, I feel awful. If you'd just let me talk—"

"He's sick and he's out of it, he's not even awake. And the last thing you're going to do is upset him."

He takes his hat off. "I'm sorry, Darrel. Christ, I do – I love that kid."

"Don't say that. Not now."

"I swear if something happened to him I'd never forgive myself…"

The ball of anger I've been trying to contain twists and turns in my gut. Disgusted, I say, "You need to go. Go clean yourself up. You look like shit."

He backs away from the door and only then do I give him some relief. Because I know it's what Ponyboy would want even though I have half a mind to let the guy suffer.

"When he's better, if he wants to see you, he can. Until then, leave us alone."

OoO

Darry's asleep next to me; his boots on, his arms propped behind his head resting on a pillow. It's the first I've seen of him since being out of the hospital.

I roll onto my side. Shake him. "Darry," I whisper. "You awake?"

With a grunt he opens his eyes and then gives a jump like he's forgotten what's happened. He sits up, looking half-crazed. "Yeah, I'm here, Ponyboy. What do you need? You okay?"

"I'm okay. Are you mad at me?"

"Mad at you? For what?"

"I stole a car."

He lets out a relieved laugh. "That's the least of my worries." He reaches over, feeling my face for coolness. "You know you gotta stay in bed for a while. Rest up and get better."

"Yeah," I say to the ceiling. I feel numb inside; stunned by what Thomas Mercer had said at his house. I should be relieved, we don't have ties to each other but instead I feel like such a sucker for even thinking he cared. I was stupid too.

Darry turns the bedside light on and I wince at the glow. "Pony, The Cowboy came by and—"

I turn my face to the wall. "I don't want to see him."

"You don't have to," Darry says, resting a hand on my arm. He doesn't ask me what happened but he doesn't need to. His face says everything; Soda's already told him.

OoO

I start coughing and don't stop until there's a hand on my back. Twisting in bed, I turn over. "Sod—what're you doing here?"

Steve scowls. "I told your brothers I'd watch you. They're off trying to earn a few dollars before they get fired."

"Shut up, Steve." Wincing, I sit up, trying not to cough. I blink – the room's full of daylight. "Man, how long have I been asleep?"

"Long enough," he says.

He reaches a hand out and I slap it away.

"Christ, you're a little shit."

I scratch my head, dazed and puzzled. Everything feels like an odd, faraway dream. "I have to go to the bathroom," I mutter, sliding out of bed.

The minute I hit the ground the room spins. I nearly fall but Steve grabs my arm, lifting me up and propelling me to the bathroom. "Oh god," I groan. "I feel like hell."

"Yeah, and you look it too."

I grip the sink, trying not to be sick and then I move to the toilet. I sway a moment and then Steve's gripping my bicep, holding me up and close to the toilet. I gawk at him, semi-appalled, semi-grateful, because I don't think I could stand on my own.

"Are you actually helping me pee?"

"So help me god, kid," Steve grits out, his back to me. "I will kill you if you tell anyone about this. Just do your goddamn business."

I nod, keep a straight face. Inside, I'm laughing so hard it hurts.

OoO

A week later I finally manage to get out of the house, if only to run errands with Two-Bit. It's his day off – which in his case "running errands" means buying beer – and I jumped at the chance to go along.

"I put a case of booze down last night bigger than this." Two-Bit raises the 24-pack of beer above his head.

"Is there anything you do other than drink, Two-Bit?" I ask, following him to the register.

He shoots me a smile and a swagger. "Nothin else this fun." Pulling out his wallet, he's ready to hand cash to the clerk when he suddenly swears. "I forgot my mom's aspirin."

"I'll get."

"Thanks kid," he says, stepping out of line.

Scooting through the aisles, I finally find the pill section, and grab the cheapest bottle of aspirin there is.

"Hey Pony."

I glance up and over and the Cowboy's coming down the aisle. He looks better than the last time I saw him: sober and clean-cut.

"Wha—what are you doing here?"

"I saw Two-Bit's truck outside." He stops about a foot away from me and stares. "How are you feeling, kid?"

"I'm okay…look, I gotta g—"

"Wait – give me a minute, will ya, Ponyboy?"

"Darry told you – I don't want to talk to you." I grip the bottle hard, and take a step away.

"I know you don't, but Pony, I'm so sorry." He takes his hat off, his eyes still my shade of green.

"I never should have said the things that I did. I was drunk and stupid. Shit, the things that I said…" The Cowboy shakes his head in loathing. "Kid, I'm a heel. I can't make it up to you."

The hurt in my stomach clenches, allowing me to almost believe he means it. I want to get past it; but when I think of what he said…it still hurts. I put too much stock into Thomas Mercer and I shouldn't have. It's easier just to be angry and push him away.

"It doesn't matter," I say, and I hear my voice shake. "You made it clear – you don't have to have anything to do with me anymore."

"Pony, Christ," he pleads. "I don't want that. I never wanted that." He swears. "Goddamn it, I love you more than you kn—"

"Stop it." I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Glory, kid, what's taking you so long? My beer's getting warm…" Two-Bit breaks off as he rounds the corner. His face goes from laughing to stony in less than five seconds when he sees Thomas Mercer.

"You know what Darry said."

"I know and I don't want any trouble. Just wanted to talk to Pony is all."

Two-Bit looks at me close. "You want to talk to him, Pone?"

"No," I say. "I don't. I just want to go home."

"You heard the kid," Two-Bit says to the Cowboy. Swiping the aspirin from my hands, Two-Bit gently pushes me out of the aisle. "So let's go, kiddo."

I don't look back.

OoO

Soda watches me get ready for a date with Josie. He's lingering in the door of the bathroom while I shave.

"I almost feel bad for the guy," I tell him, meaning Thomas Mercer.

Two-Bit had relayed the story of what had happened this afternoon, Ponyboy barely chiming in, only to clarify that no, Two-Bit did not try to fight the Cowboy, and yes, he was fine. My brother had barely eaten a bite of dinner before retreating to his room.

"Aw, hell, Dar," Soda says with a wince. "Don't tell me that."

I give a chuckle at the distaste in my brother's voice. "That doesn't mean I like him, Sodapop." I rinse my razor off, shaving cream running down the drain. "And he had no right talking to Pony the way he did…but all the same, his world just got turned upside down."

I turn the water off and smear a towel over my face. I never liked Thomas Mercer and I never will. I don't have sympathy for the man who tried to take Pony away from us but I'm pretty sure I can scrounge up some empathy.

The Cowboy treated Ponyboy well. He cared about my brother and for that I'm thankful. Plus, I know how the guy feels; the first thing I had done after finding the letters was drink half a bottle of Jack Daniels and pass out in my truck. I'm not proud of it but I can relate.

"That doesn't mean I forgive the guy," I say. "I just understand where he's coming from. You get that, buddy?"

Soda has his arms crossed, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Sure, Dar," he says finally looking my way. He swallows thickly. "I get it."

OoO

I go outside to smoke.

Right now, Pony's holed up in his room, his mind whirling over how to handle this. My little brother's always been the forgiving type and he'll eventually end up there with Thomas Mercer. Lucky for him, I won't.

But I know Darry's right. Damn it.

As soon as my brother had started talking about understanding the Cowboy my mind had gone _there_. Gone to Sandy. She messed me up good. Had me believing that her and that kid were both mine until she finally broke down and told me.

I get what Darry means; hell I've been there. No one's innocent in this; Ponyboy and the Cowboy – all of us – got put through the ringer.

We all got screwed one way or the other.

OoO

Josie's been sent over by Darry to watch me. I don't think Darry trusts me staying home alone yet. She's been cleaning the house and fixing me food I won't eat for the last two hours. Needing to escape, I grab a book and mosey outside.

All I can think about these days if I'm doing the right thing by ignoring Thomas Mercer. Both my brothers have been oddly supportive about however I want to handle it. I'm just not sure I know myself.

She comes when I'm on the porch smoking a cigarette, on the third chapter of _Fahrenheit 451_. Rita walks up the path, purse in her hands and stops at the foot of the stairs. I draw my legs beneath me on the porch swing.

"I want to talk to you, _mijo_. One last time and then I'll go."

My heart is loud and it's in my ears. "Okay," I say and I am so nervous.

OoO

"Hello?"

"Darry, I think you better get home." Josie lowers her voice as my pulse starts racing. "That woman's here. That _Rita_," she hisses.

"Christ."

I glance at the crew around me. "Listen, I'll—I'll try to get out as soon as I c—_Mack! It's to the right, not_—" I swear again. "Call Soda or Two-Bit, see if they can get over there. I'll be home as soon as I can."

OoO

Her voice is haunted. A million tales threading through it until she gets to mine. I've heard a lot I wish I didn't know but this is the worse. The lowest.

"You were right," Rita continues, getting to the point in her spiel that makes me hurt. "I took the letters. I wish I hadn't but I did." She rubs her weary hands together. "I knew before the letters though, Ponyboy. I am guilty of the worst."

I lick my lips. "What?"

"Lara came by when _Tomas_ was at the rodeo. She was very with child – with you – and happy. Glowing. She wanted to talk to him, it was important. She wouldn't tell me but I instantly knew. I knew the look of love. And it wasn't with _Tomas_ anymore. That's when I first knew you weren't his."

Her eyes flicker as Two-Bit comes walking up the drive. He reaches the porch and leans against the side of the house. "Hey Pony." His hands are in his pockets, a tight smile on his face. "You okay, kiddo?"

I give a nod. Josie hovers by the screen door listening. I rub my burning chest. Then, as if Rita hasn't seen Two-Bit, she continues and suddenly I'm wishing she wouldn't.

"After you were born came the letters."

"You read them." It's unnecessary to state the obvious but I need to say it. To get it out of me.

"I did. It's a shameful thing but _Tomas_ was like a son. I had to protect him. I swore I'd keep it for only a little bit, _mijo_, until the love wore off. But then he left after you were born. He respected Miss Lara. I thought there was no need."

"I had planned to tell him one day. But then your mama died in that horrible accident and _Tomas_ fell apart when he heard the news."

She grabs my hands, trying to steady them. "_Mijo_, I couldn't tell him. By the grace of god, it was for his own good. _Tomas_ loved your mama so much. He was so happy thinking he at least had you. You kept him alive."

"But what about me?" I whisper. "Did you think about what it would do to _us_?"

"I'm ashamed to say I did not." For once she's honest and that almost hurts the most. Rita wipes brimming eyes and stands. "You should forgive him. He was hurt by me and took it out on you. He did not mean his words. _Mijo_, he's loved you for a long time."

"I'm sorry for this Ponyboy." She leans over and touches my face gently. "I'm so sorry for everything."

OoO

I get home right in time to see Josie exit the house. She sits down next to an astonished-looking Ponyboy and grips his hand. My brother bursts into tears. Somewhere in the distance a lawn mower starts puttering.

Two-Bit meets me at the truck. "She just left, Dar."

"Thanks for coming."

"I didn't do much," he says.

"What happened?"

"She just talked. Hell, it was hard for me to hear, so I can't imagine what it did to the kid."

I look at the two people on the porch and rub a hand across my stubbly chin. "I can."

OoO

I get Pony inside and sit him down at the table. Two-Bit goes to the fridge and grabs a beer.

"I'm sorry, Darry," Josie's apologizing. "I never should have—"

"Don't worry," I tell her as she hovers in the kitchen. "You couldn't have known." I turn to my brother, who looks slightly stunned. "You alright?"

Pony splays his hands out, on top of the table. "I'm just so confused." He lets out a small laugh. "I thought it would get easier once we knew."

"Hell, I did too."

"What do you think I should do, Dar?"

"I don't know kiddo. What do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure yet," he says. "I know he's not my dad but it feels weird to just forget about him, you know?"

A chair scrapes and Josie sits across from Pony. "Listen, honey, you can't make everyone happy all of the time," she says. "Do what you want when it's right."

Two-Bit toasts her. "Wise words. Wise woman."

Pony gives a crooked smile and takes a breath.

OoO

It's been a long month but life's finally starting to get back to normal. The Cowboy still calls every day, calls so much Steve told Darry to just unplug the phone. And while I still haven't talked to him I think I'm coming around. He means too much to just cut him out. I need to call him.

When all this started happening – the secrets, the tug-of-war, the lies – back then I was too confused to understand what I should do. But now I'm beginning to think I already know.

OoO

My answer comes on the sidewalk. I'm halfway to the grocery store, needing to pick up some milk, when I trip over my own feet. I stumbled but manage to right myself by grabbing the side of a building. When I glance up that's when I see it.

I rest a palm on cool glass. In the window of the Woolworth's, my reflection is bounced back at me. And this time, with nothing, no one, clouding my vision I really see.

I see my dad in me.

His off-kilter grin I inherited, his curiosity – how he'd never give up on anything, his love of reading.

I glance down at my hands, at the light veins threading them, the long fingers so like my mother's and Soda's. The eyes that stare back are my mom's. Not the Cowboy's. She gave me them.

She also gave me a whole lot of secrets I still don't really understand. But I'm glad that I do. I know my mother; and I know the Cowboy too.

My expression wavers in the window and then disappears as I move away. My parents – both my mom and my dad – run through me. I don't know how I ever doubted it.

OoO

Steve and I are closing up shop when the big brown Impala swerves into the station. We watch it through the window. Steve sits on a bench and smokes his smoke, watching the door. I go behind the counter to count change. The clack of boots sound and a door chime and then—

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas Mercer holds up his hands. He's shaven and his hair neatly trimmed. "Look, Sodapop, I don't blame you but I got something to say."

Finished wiping down the counter, I slam the rag into the trash. "You know, you're a real low down son of a bitch for what you said to my brother."

"I know I am. I won't argue with that."

"So what do you want Mercer?"

"I just want to talk to him."

"You talk to me. When he wants to see you he'll find you."

Steve, his eyes trailing the Cowboy, takes a long drag and then flicks his cigarette butt towards Thomas Mercer. It hits the ground, the burning end dying out. "Talk or get the fuck out," he says.

The Cowboy nudges the brim of his hat up, his eyes reminding me of Pony's for a brief moment, and then pulls something out of his pocket. It glints in the faint light of the DX. "Here," he says. "Give the kid this."

He sticks a hand out and Steve palms it. Tosses it over to me. I turn it over in my hands; it's my mom's lighter, the one Ponyboy lost. "You found it," I murmur, without meaning to.

"Dragged the pond," The Cowboy says. He takes his hat off. "Listen, I'm leaving town tomorrow." I glance up, and he's heading toward the door. "I want to see Pony before I go. So tell him – if he'll come."

"I'll tell him."

OoO

I sling my tool belt on the couch and enter the kitchen, which smells like chili.

There's a pot on the stove and a jug of milk on the counter. In walks Ponyboy, book in his hand and when I look at him I realize he looks like the old Ponyboy – bright eyes, that crooked smile and untroubled.

"Hey Pony." I peer into the pot. "Dinner looks good."

"Smells good too," a voice echoes and Sodapop strolls around the corner. His smile's tight. "I got something for you Pone."

"What's that?" Pony's face lights up as he takes the shiny object Soda hands him. "Hey! You found it."

"I didn't find it," Soda says. "The Cowboy did. Brought it by the shop."

Ponyboy smiles and flips the lighter on. A flame flickers. "It works too."

"Listen, there's something else…" Soda shoots me a pained look. "He wanted me to tell you he's leaving tomorrow."

His face goes white. "Leaving? You mean, like moving?"

"Yeah, I think so…" Soda smears a hand through his hair.

I'm already pulling the keys out of my pocket. "You want a ride up there, kiddo?" Pony gives me a look so thankful it breaks my heart.

"I'm coming with you," Soda says, reaching over to turn off the stove before following me and Pony out.

OoO

Panic creeps its way into me. That I'm too late, I missed him.

Darry and Soda stay in the truck while I run into the house. It's empty, boxed up, cardboard boxes propped against the wall. The sofa and recliner have plastic sheeting draped over them, any pictures gone from the wall. I shout for Thomas. Run up the stairs and back down. Nothing.

I bolt out the back door and across the lawn. I pass the pond, now completely dry, and hear Goosey's bark. A light's on inside the barn.

Thomas Mercer's climbing down from the hay loft. The stalls are bare, the mares probably sold off by now. Goosey bounds over, wagging her tail in all directions. She licks my hand.

"You're leaving?" I ask, breathing heavily.

"You came," he says, sounding surprised.

"I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head. "I should have came earlier but—"

"Hey, hey," The Cowboy says, softly smiling. "It's okay. I get it, son."

"So you're really leaving?"

"I am. There's nothing else here for me."

"But—but what about—where's Rita?"

"Let her go." He shrugs, moving around me to sit on a hay bale. "She shouldn't have done what she did Ponyboy. It was a dirty thing she did. To me. To you. The truth is better than hurting anyone."

"But you don't have to just up and leave…"

"I can't stick around town after this. I need to get out of your life. It's not fair to you. Your brothers. I mean, hell, the way I've acted…"

I go and sit next to him. Next to this man who's acted like my father for six months. "Where're you gonna go?"

"Head west. I hear California's nice this time of year."

"I don't want you to go," I say honestly. "I feel like I just got to know you and now…now I don't know what to think."

"When you're older you'll think about it differently."

"How?"

"You're just a kid. In five, 10 years, you'll look back and this will barely be a mark in your life."

I shake my head. "No…it's more than that." And I mean it. Thomas Mercer taught me more about my mom than I thought possible, introduced me to a different life outside Tulsa, even if I didn't really want it.

"I'm sorry for meddling with your family, Ponyboy. Your brothers – they're better for you than I could ever be." He gives me a grin. "You think we make all the right decisions. But we're adults and we screw up too you know?" He laughs. "In case you couldn't tell. Listen, don't let this whole…mess change what you think about your mama. She was never mine to love. She belonged to your daddy. We both knew that."

"You know…" Thomas Mercer's voice gets thick. "I really thought you were my son, Ponyboy. I had hoped so for a long time."

I nod, my chest tight and constricted. I can't talk even if I wanted to.

He pats my cheek. "You're a good kid. And anytime you need anything – money, advice, a place to stay in California – you call me."

"I will." I take a breath. "I'm glad I know you."

Thomas Mercer says, "There's a box inside with your name on it. Take it. It's yours."

I leave the garage. I get the box and I go home with my brothers.

OoO

Pony's quiet on the drive home. I wrap an arm around his shoulders. "You okay kiddo?"

"I'm fine," he says quietly. "You ain't gotta worry about me all the time."

"We'll always worry about you."

He laughs. "Yeah well, you won't worry about me when I move out one day. What'll you do then?"

Darry raises a brow, his eyes amused. "What makes you think you're moving out?"

"Yeah," I add. "We're gonna keep you forever." I give Pony a wink and try to ruffle his hair.

Laughing again, he ducks his head away. The box on his lap bounces as Darry takes a corner. "What's in there?" Darry asks.

"I don't know," Pony says. "Just something the Cowboy gave me."

Darry's voice is controlled, curious, "How do you feel, Pone?"

There's a long pause and then Ponyboy says, "I feel free. I don't know if you get what I mean but—"

"No," Darry says. "I do. I get it, kiddo." I catch Ponyboy's smile in the dark cab of the truck and know it will all be alright.

OoO

A few days later I open the box. Inside are all the photos of my mom and the other letters she had written him.

I imagine the Cowboy's probably in California by now. It's a relief that he's gone – I'll never forget him, but the reminder of what's happened is out of sight. I can tell Darry and Soda are relieved, although they'd never tell me that. It's been a rough ride, pulling everyone in unfathomable directions and I'm glad we're all back to being whole.

A manila envelope catches my eye. _Ponyboy_ is written across the front in unfamiliar print. I open it and a letter and a smaller envelope falls into my lap.

I open the letter first.

_Ponyboy,_

_I wanted to give you what belonged to your mama because it should be yours. _

_Son, you've meant the world to me. I'm grateful for the time I had with you._

_I've put that $500 into a bank account at First National. The password is 'goosey' should you ever want or need the money. It's yours. I won't take it back. Go to college. See the world. Whatever you do, do something with it. Your mama would have wanted you to. _

_You're a good kid and I'm proud of you. _

_Thomas_

Stunned, I hastily stick the letter back in the envelope. I just have to laugh; even now the Cowboy keeps trying to have his way. I pick up the small envelope – it's square, about the size of a business card and has an address on the front of it.

Before I can open it there's a sharp knock and then the bedroom door swings open. Steve sticks his greasy head inside. He's scowling. "What're you doing in here? Moping?"

I roll my eyes, shift on the bed, spilling the contents of the box off my lap. "None of your business."

Outside my room I can hear Soda and Darry bickering over something and Josie's calming voice. There's a crash and then Two-Bit's, "Ohhhhh shit…"

Steve opens the door wider. "So what do you say, kid? Wanna go practice some while Two-Bit trashes the place?"

A smile spreads across my face. "Sounds like a plan." Hopping off the bed, I follow Steve out of the room, before I realize I'm still holding the small envelope. Absentmindedly I open it and a silver key falls into my palm.

I stop in the middle of the living room.

"Jesus," Steve snaps. "Kid, get a move on will ya—" I show him the key. His eyes get big and greedy.

"Oh no," Darry says. He starts shaking his head. "No. Tell me he didn't." Soda busts into a laugh, going into the kitchen where he really lets loose.

"He did."

Steve lets out a long whistle as I hold the key to the Cowboy's Corvette up, the sun from the window glinting off of it. I scan the room; Soda's laughing, Darry's trying not to smile, and I realize I couldn't ask for anything better. I have all that I need.

OoO

_Eeee, it's over. Wow. What can I say?! Thank you so, so much for reading, for reviewing. I sincerely hope you enjoyed. I had such fun writing. I hope I'll be back._

_Please review!_

_XO,_

_Feisty_


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